The Fellowships of the Gems
by dara isethia
Summary: Years after the War of the Ring ended, a new Dark Lord has arisen. Now, the heirs of heroes must come together to keep an item of great power away from the Dark Lord.
1. Darkness Seeps In

The Book

Dear Reader,

You hold in your hands the testament of many of the Fourth Age at its beginning. When the new era dawned, peace lay over the lands, and old hurts began to be healed, old enmities repaired, cooperation between the enemies of old began anew.

It was a time of bliss, a time in which one could ride day and night and fear no danger nor meet any foe. A happy time that was all too short-lived.

When the last of the Ringbearers departed from the Gray Havens, it was accepted in our Realm that the Age of Sauron and the Rings had passed, and so it had. But the wisest among us all realized that an heir is always left behind, and so the great works are passed, father to son, mother to daughter, Dark Lord to foul heir . . .

And so the time came when we must once again rise against the Dark Lord's legacy, and find our own inheritance in so doing. We were the ones who discovered the existence of that which Sauron's heir most coveted, and we set out to gain this treasure before the minions of Mordor could. This is our story . . .

In these times, when darkness began to creep once again, tainting the lands and casting shadows over the tenuous peace, the Council of the Wise met. Information had been brought to them concerning a thing of power even more potent than the One Ring had been. If Sauron's heir were to find the three parts that formed the whole, his forces would easily gain complete dominion over the whole of Middle Earth.

The item in question was no mere sword or Ring of Power, but a gem consisting of three crystals: one green, one white, and one silver. The three stones on their own possessed considerable powers: the green, to heal; the white, to predict the future; the silver, to prolong life. It was in their joining that they formed one perfect black crystal, called the Anachron, which when wielded by one wise in its use could enable the user to command armies, control hearts, and most importantly, travel through time and to other realms.

Sauron's heir would like nothing better than to alter history in his favor.

So the Council of the Wise dispatched its emissaries to the far corners of the Realm, to seek the missing crystals before the Dark Lord's heir found them, and to warn all races. A fellowship was brought together to undertake the quest for the Anachron. It was I, Edric the Golden, who was sent first to the Elves.

Chapter One

Darkness Seeps In

Ayala, the Elf from Mirkwood, stood and looked at the remains of Lothlorien. _Once_, she thought, _it was beautiful, but now that everyone is gone it seems empty._

She walked around, watching the leaves as they fluttered to the ground. A single tear fell down to join them.

"How much has changed since this Fourth Age has begun, I wonder," she said outloud. "It seems that everyone has left. Yet I know that is not true. Legolas is still in Middle Earth if rumors I have heard are true. Yet what shall it be like without my parents and Ayon? Alas! Ayon, my brother! You traveled with me so long, yet your longing for the Sea was far greater than mine! At last your dream came true, and you sailed with Elrond!" Ayala turned and looked beyond the forest, dreaming of the Sea. "One day I shall rejoin you all, my dear family, but my journey in Middle Earth is still far from over, I fear!" Ayala continued to stand silent. Her hair still shone golden in the sun. She still wore the brown and green of Mirkwood. Only her eyes, sky blue, showed the pain of loss and loneliness she had felt. She finally shook herself from her reverie.

"Farewell, my dear friends and family! For us who stay on Middle Earth must face the new evil approaching, but one day we shall come! Farewell!"

Ayala left Lothlorien.

***

Syntoc the Green was also dispatched to warn all of the upcoming war with the heir of Sauron, but since he could think of no other place to go, he traveled to Rivendell. He was the first to arrive at the council. It was proclaimed that all who wished to defeat the heir's forces were to meet there for council. Syntoc sat at the table, waiting for his fellow Councilmen of the Wise, Elves, Dwarves, and all others alike to arrive.

***

Edric had been traveling for many days, and was weary with the dust of the road. As he drew near to Rivendell, his spirit lifted, as if the sun came out from behind a cloud.

Upon descending into the valley, Edric was met by the sound of a lone voice in song. The song was plaintive, an Elven tale of unrequited love. The Wizard had never heard its like before.

An Elf swung down to greet him. "I welcome you, Edric."

A slow smile crept across Edric's face, his eyes crinkling a bit at the corners.

"Legolas." Edric inclined his head, leaning a little on his staff tiredly. "A fair welcome and a sad but lovely song. We have much to discuss, my friend. I humbly ask your escort the House of Elrond.

"Syntoc the Green has also arrived here, Edric," Legolas said to the Wizard. "The proclamation has gone out through all the lands. The Dwarves travel hither, and the Halflings, though they know it not. With the Wood Elves of Mirkwood we will take council, and the Men of Minas Tirith." His words trailed away as two beloved to him came to mind: Gimli, his comrade of old; and Ayala, whom he loved and had not seen since before the Great War. He did not know if she still dwelt in this realm, or had heeded the inexorable call of the Sea, had the Music of the Ainur drawn her away, as it had so many others? Legolas had been making ready for a quest of his own, to find her, fairest of the fair she was, shining like a lantern in the Dark Wood.

His heart was heavy, yet his merry words did not betray him as they reached Elrond's haven. Food and drink were awaiting the earliest arrivals, but Legolas did not join them, wishing for solitude he slipped out again, seeking solace among the silent trees.

***

On the same day that Edric the Golden was met by Legolas and entered Rivendell, Bain the Warhammer set forth from Erebor with his most trusted General and companion, Larz Oakenshield. Their destination was Minas Tirith, but many stops would be made along the way, alerting villages and towns that Sauron had left an heir, and that evil once again lived and threatened all. Forces must not be caught unawares this time, plans must be laid in advance, strongholds fortified, armies rallied, and soldiers trained.

The came first to the Men of Dale and told them all the Wizard who had come to the Lonely Mountain had told to Bain. Bain had been King Under the Mountain twenty years now, and a great spirit of cooperation had been forged with the people of Dale. Bain's kinsmen owed them much, and their two peoples shared good fortune.

They came to the Inn and were ushered in with hale greetings, but silence soon fell when their grim faces were seen.

The bells began to ring as the King Under the Mountain and his trusted warrior came forth, and mulled wine and mead were made ready for them at the Inn. The Men of Dale gathered to hear them speak, knowing the news would be of grim portent.

Though they dwelt in the shadow of Erebor, sometimes the news was scant. The days of harsh words between the Dwarves and Men were over.

"Come, Warhammer, tell us your tale," spoke Graneld, the Innkeeper.

***

Marigold grumped and wiped the sweat from her neck for what seemed to be hundredth time that day. It wasn't even noon, yet the sun was already blistering all. She was digging out potatoes for that night's supper at the Green Dragon, which was run by her mother. The pile in her basket looked dismally small.

"Why can't Digger be made to do this for once instead of me?" she growled to herself. Digger Gamgee was her mother's other employee, the one who actually got a salary. And he had the luck of being sent to fish; he was probably dangling his toes in the cool water right now, smoking some pipe-weed. She found several more large taters and plopped them into the basket, standing for a moment to stretch her back.

Insects hummed in the bushes, and heat shimmered over all. In unison, the songs of the insects came to an abrupt halt. An eerie silence had fallen.

Marigold felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. Somewhere a pair of eyes was watching her.

She scanned every inch of her surroundings until all at once she saw. Huge eyes of the deepest green, staring out of-

She gave a sharp cry of amazement and approached the creature looking at her.

"Well, there's a tree that wasn't there before," she remarked merrily. This was an Ent, one of the creatures she had pestered her Uncle Pippin to tell her more about. She moved closer and bowed to it.

The Ent spoke to Marigold in deep and sonorous tones, yet there was a lilt to its words that made her wonder.

"Are you a female Ent?" she inquired timidly. After a long diatribe from the Ent on what was considered female, Marigold discerned that this was indeed an Entwife.

Well, the other Ents have been waiting for your return for I daresay quite some time! My Uncle Pippin told me all about your kind, and how they could disappear altogether without some young 'uns-"

"Entings," corrected the Ent.

"Yes, yes, Entings. Come with me. My uncle would love to speak to you." Marigold ushered the creature toward her uncle's Hobbit hole, which wasn't far down the lane.

"Ooh," she chattered to herself, "he's going to mighty excited by this!"

Peregrin Took was indeed excited; anything that could rouse him from his place by the fire in his old age would have to be extraordinary.

"Marigold," he uttered. "Take this Entwife to the mouth of the Entwash, take her to her people," uttered Pippin.

An adventure! Marigold rushed back to the Green Dragon, telling her mother all in a rush everything that had happened. There was dark disapproval in her mother's eyes when Marigold asked to accompany the Ent.

"Have you taken all leave of your senses, Marigold?" asked Pansy, looking dourly at the Ent. "I can't deny this is a marvelous creature," she added hastily, "and, of course, I want to see her find her mate, but you can't just go off half-cocked like this, not to mention I need your help around here."

"But Uncle Pippin-"

"I'm quite sure he thought it was a grand idea. I just think it's best left to someone well-traveled to take the Ent on such a long journey."

"But he said I should be the one! I found her!"

"It isn't safe, Marigold, and that's my final word. Where are those potatoes now?"

With the Ent's leave, Doireann lit in its highest branches. She fixed her multi-faceted eyes upon the Inn. If Marigold were to leave the Shire, Doireann would accompany her. And somehow Doireann knew it would go Marigold's way this time in spite of her mother's inevitable protestations.

The Ent was the most pleasant of creatures, and Doireann delighted in speaking to it.

Pansy's face softened, and, at last, she relented. Marigold would have her own life, be it sooner or later.

"You're to take Doireann with you, and a Shirriff part of the way, and once you've delivered the Ent to the mouth of the Entwash, you're to come straight home."

She watched Marigold's face light up. Pippin was going to be mighty pleased, the old codger. He'd go himself if his joints allowed him to travel without pain. Pansy helped Marigold pack and saw her to the road.

"Be careful," she said sadly and hugged her daughter. "And send Doireann back with news."

***

Ayala looked up the moon and stood silent for several seconds. She put her fingers to her mouth and whistled, not loud, yet strangely piercing. In several seconds, a horse, white with a soft blue glow, approached Ayala.

"Come, my friend Pegasus. I must travel in haste to Rivendell for an important meeting. Will you carry me?"

The horse bowed her head.

"Thank you," said Ayala. "One moment."

Ayala looked to the sky and held up her hand. A hawk landed next to her.

"Wiyuan. You are one of the fastest of the Great Hawks of Middle Earth. Will you be able to carry this message to Rivendell? Pegasus is fast, but not enough to reach Rivendell today."

"I shall go as fast the currents allow for thee," said Wiyuan. Ayala gave the message to her.

"Be careful, for the skies may not be as safe as before. Farewell, Wiyuan!"

"Farewell, Ayala! Make haste to Rivendell!"

Ayala watched as Wiyuan flew away, then she mounted Pegasus. Without a word, the horse was off.

That evening, Wiyuan reached Rivendell and saw a single Elf amongst the trees. She flew down slowly so as not to startle him and recognized him as Legolas Greenleaf.

"I bid thee a fair evening, Legolas! I have brought a message from Ayala Proudbow." Wiyuan gave the message to the Elf. It read:

__

My friends in Rivendell,

I have received the call to the meeting. When you receive this message I will be two days away, if I have guessed right. I ride Pegasus, daughter of Shadowfax, yet she is not as fast as her father was. Do not delay for me, for I fear evil shall follow my heels.

Ayala

***

"Hail, Syntoc, old friend!" Edric greeted his fellow Wizard and Council member. "Though dark times may be coming, the shadows have not touched fair Rivendell yet. I fear we may wait long, emissaries from many races are only now setting out for this fair valley." Edric took a seat beside Syntoc.

"What think you of the latest stirrings in Mordor?" he asked, his voice pitched low so only Syntoc could hear him.

"Times are going to be rough indeed, my friend Edric." Syntoc held his voice to a quite tone. "I am afraid Middle Earth is again about to be devastated. I am getting far too old for this, Edric."

***

In the most shadowed depths of Mirkwood, a long Elf wended her way down the well-traveled road, heeding the call to Rivendell. An unearthly silence penetrated, making the darkness deeper and palpable. Emer knew that eyes from afar watched the movements of many, seeking the ones that could be twisted to evil, undone.

The Elf's passing made no sound, and she stopped to climb lithely to the top of a tree, gazing out over the canopy. All appeared well, still there was the feeling of being watched, even stronger in the light. She descended gracefully, pressing on until the edge of Mirkwood came into view.

***

The heir to Sauron's throne was mightily pleased with his labors. The Dark Tower had risen once again, and spies covered the land, his many eyes watching in the most covert of ways, in places unsuspected, seeking the hearts that wavered, looking for weakness. All would be brought into the fold, until the darkness covered all as it was meant to be.

A massive breeding program was underway to restore the depleted numbers of the fighting Uruk-Hai, and Intathin had two of the Palantiri in his keeping, his gaze extending even further. He knew that the Council met in Rivendell, and he had sent one of his own most trusted to be his eyes and ears there. If they failed, they would be summarily executed and made an example of. Intathin would not repeat the mistakes of the past; Sauron had gazed afar instead of keeping vigil on his own doorstep.

He knew that the Dwarves had one of the three crystals of the Anachron, and their party was now in Dale. It was unlikely that they carried this precious treasure on their persons; there was no treasury in the all the Realm that could keep Intathin from finding it, and he would seek long, until he uncovered its location and that of the other two, and he would take them, or Armageddon would begin.

***

Draco shifted in his saddle. His horse seemed as eager to be gone as he was, though he knew not why, only that destiny called and he must follow.

He gazed up the walled city of Minas Tirith, which had been restored to its former splendor after the Great War of the Ring. The King had ruled long and well, and peace lay over the land, but Draco knew it was not for long. No one would listen to him, and the people were content and prosperous, but he could not shake the feeling of foreboding that pervaded his every waking thought and insinuated itself into his dreams. There was a deep well of power within, and he would ignore it no longer, knowing there was danger in untrained thought, and that his will could be bent by another as long as he remained uneducated.

So he set off to seek one who could teach him, young, alone, and fearful, though his prideful stance would not betray it. It grieved him to leave the city where his Grandfather had once held the Stewardship, Denethor who had ruled in the King's stead until his return.

Of all the lands in the Realm, Gondor bore the fruits of peace most, but Draco knew in his heart it would not remain so unless all remained vigilant. Where he would go next, he did not know, he trusted that the Fates would guide him, and his own innate sense of what he sought would open the path ahead.

Off he rode, the summer sunshine warm on his back, and idyllic quiet over the land, and he tried not to think of the bleak days that would eventually come, and of all that they would foretell.

***

He watched the whole scene unravel to him, and he laughed. His plan was working perfectly, so far. He felt the Eye watching him, but not understanding. In time, he would reveal himself . . . only in time.

***

In the farthest North, many miles from any of the civilized races, a lone figure walked slowly southward. In his black raiment it appeared as though a shadow, freed from the body of its owner, walked alone over the hills of snow.

A closer would reveal that this figure appeared to be a Human male, though Human he definitely was not. His true race was known only to those who knew of his past, and those who had heard the long, dark tale of his past in its entirety could be counted on one hand. Those few people also knew that in times such as these, when this person would travel openly in daylight such as he was now, great misfortune would befall the minions of evil . . . He had been a thorn in the sides of all that were evil since the days of Melkor.

As the traveled, he thought back to a few nights ago, when he had been stirred out of his long idleness. The only reason he could think of for what had happened was that the Valar were behind it . . . The Powers of the West had called upon him once again.

He thought of that night many times.

The dream had seemed so real . . .

He had seen Rivendell and Minas Tirith, Edoras and Lothlorien, and many other places throughout Middle Earth. He had seen all these places and their people, living in a new peaceful age . . . An age without the taint of Sauron. He had then seen all of those places consumed by fire in the blink of an eye. Out of the fire arose a single object, which slowly began to take shape . . . The Dark Tower.

"So, Sauron has left an heir," he said to himself, which would be the only thing he would say for many days.

He could not let the dream become a reality. He would head first to Rivendell, and he would try to find others to aid him. He would find Sauron's heir, and he would destroy him . . . Alone, if necessary, or he would die trying, if such was his doom.

After many days and many miles, he was coming nigh to Rivendell. Hopefully, he would receive a warm welcome, seeing as how he had not been there in many years, and Master Elrond had gone over the Sea . . . Hopefully, he could find others who would aid him in the dark times to come .. .

Hopefully . . . He would prevail against the Enemy . . .

And so began the next quest of the Wanderer.

Disclaimer: This story is the novelization of an old roleplaying game. The world of Arda and the characters of Legolas, Arwen, and Elrond were created by J.R.R. Tolkien, and are property of his estate, I think. This story was also a crossover, so the following characters and concepts are from other books. I will introduce those as they come in, as well as any characters that come in later from the Tolkien books that I forgot to list here. The original characters were all created by the person who played them. For a full list of who played who, including characters from the various books, e-mail me at starlit_skie@yahoo.com.


	2. Strange Arrivals

****

Chapter Two

Strange Arrivals

A serpent-like creature whirled around a seemingly unconscious man. The creature landed and started poking at him.

_:Stop it, Loiosh!:_ said the man telepathically.

_:Sorry, boss. I wanted to see if you were awake.:_

The man sat up and rubbed his head. His black hair fell down to his shoulder, and a mustache was barely visible.

_:My head hurts.:_

:Is that why you're rubbing your head?:

:Shut up, Loiosh. Where's Rocza?:

:Searching the area . . . wait! She's coming back. She says she's spotted someone.:

The man stood and looked around with his sharp, black eyes, quickly. A knife fell into his hands. Loiosh landed on the man's left shoulder, and a similar looking creature, larger than Loiosh, landed on his right. Then he saw a fair, young woman, riding a horse. She stopped near him.

"Who are you? Do you need help?"

The man nearly dropped the knife, but did not.

"Did you ask," started the man with a strange accent, "if I need help?"

Ayala dismounted Pegasus. "Yes . . . why?"

"Aren't you a Dragaeran?"

"A what? I am an Elf."

_:Boss. . .:_

"Did you say 'Elf?' By the Orb! Where am I?"

Ayala looked at the man strangely. "You are about day from Rivendell."

"Which would be . . ."

"The Last Homely House . . . the sanctuary created by Elrond Halfelven."

"Uh-huh . . ."

_:Loiosh . . .:_

:I don't think you're dead . . . and I don't think we're dreaming.:

"Look. Where I come from, there are people similar to you . . . Dragaerans . . . who call themselves Humans, and we are called Easterners. . ."

"Here you are called 'Human.' Are you hurt?"

_:Did I hear right, boss?:_

"Damnit! I am not hurt! I'm just bloody confused!"

"Then perhaps you should accompany me to Rivendell, for I cannot aid you with this problem. The Wizards there may be able to help you."

"Wizards?"

"Yes. Istari. They appear to be Human . . . like you, but appear older . . . You do not seem like the Enemy. . ."

"I would think not."

"Then will you accompany me . . . and sheath your blade?"

The man looked at the horse, making his knife disappear. "I hate riding . . ."

"Pegasus is swift, but travels smooth. However, I do not know what to do with your . . . friends."

"Oh. These are jhereg. This is Loiosh, and the bigger one, his mate, is Rocza. Loiosh is my trusty familiar."

_:I'm not flying a day, boss.:_

"And they'll just cling to me when we ride."

"May I ask who you are?" said Ayala as she mounted Pegasus.

"Errr . . ."

_:She's ok, boss.:_

"Vladimir Taltos. Just call me Vlad."

"I am Ayala of Mirkwood."

Vlad mounted behind Ayala. Loiosh and Rocza clung to Vlad inside his cloak.

Pegasus took off without a word, and Vlad's hold on Ayala tightened.

"Not too tight," she said.

"Sorry . . ."

Time passed, and Vlad fell asleep. He woke up with a start and looked around.

"Did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make me fall asleep."

"I can't do such things, Vlad. Perhaps your Dragaerans can."

Vlad did not reply. Presently he saw a very beautiful place in the distance.

"Rivendell," said Ayala.

"How fast are we moving?" asked Vlad.

"I cannot say for certain; perhaps like when a bird finds good air currents. We should be at Rivendell soon . . ."

"Then can we get rid of those birds?"

"You noticed, then?"

"I notice a lot."

"They are evil . . . their lord sent them to spy on me, I think."

"Their lord? Who's that?"

"I cannot speak of this here . . . but perhaps in Rivendell you shall find out, along with why you are here. To speak of such evils in the open is not wise. . ."

Vlad did not reply, but looked at the birds again.

"Now that you mention it . . . I don't like the birds either."

Ayala leaned forward. "Pegasus, dearheart. I know that you have ridden far and fast with little rest, but can you hurry? These birds follow us, and I fear they shall cause trouble."

Pegasus sprinted forward.

Vlad looked up at the birds.

Disclaimer: The characters of Vlad, Loiosh, and Rocza are from a series of books by Steven Brust. As for the rest, the disclaimer from the last chapter still applies. In future chapters, disclaimer will be used only as necessary. When none is present, the ones from previous chapters still apply.


	3. Ray of Light Wandering

****

Chapter Three

Ray of Light. Wandering.

"Welcome, Ayala! I have been expecting you. It has been some time since our last run in, hasn't it?" Syntoc then saw the two strangers with the Elf. "You brought friends? Magnificent! Might I inquire their names?"

"It has indeed, Syntoc."

Vlad and Ayala dismounted.

Loiosh and Rocza climbed out of Vlad's cloak and hissed.

"Actually, it would be three," said Vlad. 

Ayala laughed a little. "This is Vladimir Taltos and his two friends, Loiosh and Rocza. Vlad . . . this is Syntoc the Green . . . a Wizard," she said.

"Err . . . yeah. Loiosh is the smaller one."

_:I know what you were thinking, boss.:_

:Can't help it if it's true, Loiosh.:

:Hey, boss. Do you think they can read minds?:

:I pride myself that even Daymar can't read my mind, Loiosh. But I don't think they can hear us talk . . .: Vlad looked at the Wizard, then at Ayala.

"Um . . . I was told I might be able to find out what I'm doing here . . . I don't think I'm anywhere near home," said Vlad.

"Do not worry about that now, Vlad. First let us rest a bit. Are you hungry?" asked Ayala.

"Well . . . now that you mention it . . ."

Ayala turned to Syntoc. "Would it possible for you to help him, Syntoc? He does not know any of these lands, and I cannot guess why he would be brought here. There are some people I wish to see. . ."

"I suppose I can at least try to help him. I don't see any danger in trying." Syntoc turned to the newcomer, Vlad. "Tell me about yourself. Maybe with some information, I can help."

Ayala nodded, then wandered off.

Vlad scratched his head. "Um . . . well . . . let's see. I live . . . lived in Andrilankha and belonged to a group known as the Jhereg. Um . . . that's an organization of sorts, the only House that Easterners . . . Humans . . . can pay to get into . . . or be a Teckla. No one really wants to be Teckla, though." Vlad paused. "Actually, I might be wrong on that. There might be people who actually want to be Teckla. Anyway, the Jhereg is actually a class of Dragaerans. Dragaerans are like Elves, and they're split into seventeen groups. The Jhereg are mostly known as . . . well, gangsters and assassins and such. Not that I would do such things. I had a 'friend' who did 'work,' but that's in the past. Umm, the Empire is run by whoever happens to be the heir at the time, and if the Cycle is right. The Cycle. That's kinda hard to explain. Each House of the Dragaerans have a time that they rule, and it circulates around. Right now the Phoenix are ruling . . . but there's only one, then the Dragons and so on. Most of my Dragaeran friends just happen to be Dragons . . . well, Sethra . . . nevermind. Does that help any, or is there something else you want to know?"

Syntoc chuckled lightly. "My friend Vlad, you were summoned here. I know not who summoned you, but you were summoned. This place you are at is called Middle Earth. You are from across the waters. Let me guess, you were sleeping, and when you woke up, you were here. This is only the second time this has happened. Oh, dear. We must protect you. The first time this happened, the person was provoked to evil." Syntoc appeared to have a worried look on his face. "Do you have any questions?"

"Actually . . . it wasn't that I fell asleep. . ."

_:Yeah, boss. You turned around, and . . .:_

:Shut up, Loiosh.:

:Yeah, boss.:

"Well . . . I was hit by a magic blast in the middle of battle . . . I think . . ." Vlad looked around. "Middle Earth, huh? At least there aren't going to be any Jhereg after me. So, what do I do now? I can't just sit around and twiddle my thumbs. I can fight. Who's this evil guy that Ayala spoke of?"

"So you were not summoned, you were sent. That is a first, indeed. Well, I guess we need at least to put you to good use. We don't know his name. He is pure evil though. We can get you to fight with a Man's weapons, I guess; sword and shield. Well, I must go ask a friend of these goings on. Look around Rivendell. I will return shortly." 

Syntoc walked away from the party, then stopped abruptly. "And, Loiosh, is it, speaking through your thoughts will do you no good here. I can read minds. I am a Wizard."

_:Boss . . .:_

:So, he can read minds better than Daymar. . . well, I guess any conversation won't be so private anymore.:

:Boss, doesn't it bother you just a bit that we were 'sent' here?:

:It brings be great joy,: Vlad sent sarcastically. _:What do you think, Loiosh? Do you think I like being a pawn? Of course not! But do we have a choice? No. We're here, and we can't teleport . . . in fact, I can't even sense the Orb here, even if I remove the Phoenix stones. Damn. I guess I can't call Morrolan or Aliera. They would love this place.:_

:I don't think they would, boss. People are too nice here. They're not uppity either.:

:Good points. I don't think the inhabitants here would appreciate Great Weapons either.:

Vlad looked around several seconds, his eyes darting from one point to another.

_:Do you think he got the point that you worked for the . . .:_

:Shut up, Loiosh. I don't think the people here are going to trust me if they know that . . . which they probably do, since you have a big . . . 'mouth.' I don't think they trust me anyway.:

:Do you think I would be as nice as you if I could speak?:

:Shut up.:

:Yeah, boss. So what now?:

:I don't know.: Vlad stood around. _:It's not like back home, where I was running from the Jhereg . . . or some punk tried to take over . . . well, yeah. Loiosh, I know you will bother me for the rest of my life for this . . . but I don't know what to do.:_

:I understand. I will bother you for the rest of my life.:

:Thanks, Loiosh. You make me feel better.:

***

Edric chuckled at Syntoc's concise handling of the newcomers, though his eyes were dark. He took council with Syntoc privately.

"It does not bode well, Syntoc. Travelers from another realm. They could be spies of the enemy, a new and more clever trick, an attempt to infiltrate the strength of Rivendell. I suggest we place upon these newcomers a spell of binding, to keep them from being the instruments of evil, lest we find our house crumbling from within." Edric stroked the braids at the front of his beard thoughtfully, lines of worry creasing his face.

Syntoc had a solemn look on his face. "Edric, my friend, you know we could not bind power as great as Sauron's, and I doubt we can do the same to his heir. We must keep a close watch on the newcomers though. I shouldn't have said anything about hearing his thoughts, so maybe we could get some information later. What do you think of someone from the other side of Arda being sent through, Edric? Someone must not have liked this bunch if they sent them to the other side of the planet."

***

Vlad started to walk around the place, wondering where everyone went.

_:Loiosh, why don't you look about a bit, ok?:_

:Yeah, boss. Do I get paid for this?:

:Go.:

Loiosh took off as Vlad and Rocza looked around. Vlad noted various escape routes and other things that could be useful to him. Loiosh spotted Ayala with another Elf, but continued to circle the area. Finally he returned to Vlad.

_:Well?:_

:I saw Ayala with someone. You know, boss, this place is really nice.:

:Yeah . . .:

:Boss?:

:Don't worry about it, Loiosh. Just thinking some crazy thoughts.:

Loiosh remained silent. Vlad walked toward a door and opened it to see Syntoc and another man talking. He bowed out of respect and habit, then entered. His eyes darted from one thing in the room to another as he approached the two men. Several steps away, Vlad looked to the man sitting beside Syntoc.

"Good day, Lord. My name is Vladimir Taltos of the House of Jhereg. I wish to help you and your friends fight this evil that is causing havoc in your lands . . ."

_:That's quite a speech there, boss.:_

:Loiosh, shut up.:

Rocza licked Vlad's ear.

"You're not helping either, you know," sighed Vlad. He looked at Syntoc. "You said I should get some weapons, but I don't really need any. I have my rapier."

_:And some other stuff.:_

:Loiosh!:

:What? He can hear you loud and clear, so he probably already knows.:

Vlad sighed again. "Ok. I also have some other weapons that I _try_ to keep hidden if some loud-mouth jhereg wouldn't talk so much."

_:Kind of you, boss . . .:_

"I don't wear armor, either."

_:And you don't have your link to the Orb.:_

Vlad slumped against a chair that was facing a wall.

_:Habit.:_

:Do you have to say everything?:

:Well, they don't seem evil, do they?:

Vlad didn't reply to that, but said, "So, is there any way I could help?"

"My first question to you is what are these hidden weapons you speak of? And what is this Orb that your companion continues to speak of in secrecy?" Syntoc eyed Vlad with a sense of uneasiness.

Before Vlad could reply, Edric took Syntoc aside. "My friend, you misunderstood me earlier. I meant that a spell should be placed on these newcomers, not the Dark Lord. I'm afraid I must leave for a while to escort the Dwarves here; they are in some peril, though they are not aware of it. When I return, the council's numbers will be many. Farewell!"

Edric slipped from the hall and was away.

Vlad watched the other go, and then his eyes snapped back to Syntoc.

"Do we really have to discuss what I carry? Nevermind. Don't answer. I have knives and darts and so on hidden if I need to make a fast getaway . . ." A knife appeared in Vlad's hands and he cut off his sentence, believing that Syntoc now understood. "The Orb . . . is a completely different subject. It is . . . well . . . exactly what it is, I don't know. But all members of the Dragaeran Empire have a link to it. One can check the time, teleport, and do more complicated sorcery by drawing power from the Orb. It circles the head of whoever happens to be ruling the Empire at that time. I prefer to use . . ." Vlad stopped.

_:Go on, boss. I trust this guy.:_

Vlad sighed. "I prefer to use witchcraft. That requires more time and uses one's own energy. Easterners . . . Humans are more known to use witchcraft, and Dragaerans use sorcery. I have a . . . friend who uses witchcraft, even though he's a Dragaeran."

_:Boss?:_

Vlad looked away. "I don't know . . . perhaps it's this place, or maybe you're doing something to my mind, but I seem to tell you more about myself than normal . . . especially when I hardly know that person. Loiosh and I have been telling you things we wouldn't tell others." Vlad suddenly smiled. "I believe it will be only a matter of time before you ask me, 'why do you carry hidden weapons?' I guess I'll tell you. I used to be an assassin, Wizard. That's right. I used to kill Dragaerans for money, and I thought I enjoyed it, until a friend of mine told me something and the Jhereg decided to end my wife's life . . ." Vlad got up and looked out the window. "Cawti . . . she was messing with stuff they didn't like, and she tried to change the Teckla. We weren't getting along anymore, but I still . . . well, when I did something that the Jhereg could never forget me for . . . I went on the run and left everything behind. My wife, my business, my life. What a mess. That was years ago, and I think I've changed. I met a Teckla boy who went into shock because of a mistake I did. Then I was attacked near his village, then showed up here. That's where I am now. What do you think now, Wizard? I could definitely be a pawn for the Enemy, couldn't I?"

"Friend Vlad, many people tell me many things. I know more than I should for my own good. Though these are secrets I keep. I tell them to no one. Your past is safe with me, friend."

Vlad relaxed a little. "So, now that I have my past cleared up, what do we do now? I'm afraid my companion who brought me here told me little of what has to be done."

"Well, Vlad . . . we wait. We are waiting on a large group of people to get together and hold council. Until they arrive, I suggest you rest, my friend."

"Rest . . . ok. I guess I can do that. I haven't sat in a chair for this long in many days."

***

Ayala wandered around Rivendell. To her, it was empty and lonely. She saw someone sitting near a tree and walked quietly in that direction.

"Um . . . excuse me . . . I am searching for someone named Legolas. Do you know if he is here?"

Legolas shimmied gracefully from a nearby tree, landing only feet from Ayala. He bowed low, his robes whispering on the grass.

"And so you have found me, Ayala Proudbow the Fair." Legolas rushed forward and swept her into an embrace.

"It is joyful to see you again. Would that the circumstances were joyful as well. We have much to discuss." He glanced up the empty cloudless sky. "They cannot cross over here," said Legolas, speaking his inner thoughts aloud.

"It will be worse than before, the Enemy is more clever, having learned from his father's mistakes. The Dwarves of Erebor march hither, and a Halfling this way comes, although she knows it not. Much will be revealed in council. If you sense treachery, Ayala, warning must be given, for once it is known what the Dark Lord seeks, all with knowledge will be suspect."

He took her hand, leading her back in the direction of the House of Elrond.

"It is good Elrond is not here to see all that he toiled for once again threatened. Though his son Elrohir yet remains, he is not the statesman his father was. May the children of Illuvatar guide our hearts." He fell silent, fearing he had said too much already.

Ayala stopped and turned Legolas to her. She studied him for several seconds, then, with tears in her eyes, she rushed toward him and embraced him again.

"Legolas! I thought you might have left Middle Earth! Everything seemed so empty to me the day Elrond left. Ayon has gone, and so have my parents. I knew there was another evil, so I stayed." Ayala stepped back and looked down, her face red. "Shall Middle Earth ever know peace? It seems to me as if we fight, and the evil still flies around us. It seemed like an easy escape to have gone over the Sea . . . and I knew I could not do that; that I still had to stay and fight." Ayala took Legolas' hand in her own and looked into his face. "I fear my task is far from over . . . but you have faced Sauron. It does not seem fair. My heart seems torn in two, Legolas . . . but shall I find a way to heal it, like Samwise?"

Ayala looked away. "There is a Human here, a stranger, named Vladimir Taltos," she said. "I do not think he is evil, but I believe Evil shall try to use him."

He brushed the backs of his fingers over Ayala's face. "Perhaps we shall find a way to heal old wounds together. I could not have left, knowing there was a chance you might still dwell in Mirkwood, long I searched for you there, until the impenetrable darkness there became unbearable .. ." After a short silence, he spoke in the Elven tongue, the language of his heart, so that she would not misunderstand. "I wish never to parted from you again; I wish Lorien to be filled once again with song and laughter, let that be our quest, yours and mine, when Sauron's heir has been defeated."

He folded her into his arms once more, thinking upon these strange comers to Arda, and what their coming might portend. In the common tongue, he said, "We must be wary, Ayala, and watchful. The Heir to Mordor will seek strongholds and allies in the most beloved places, he will strike at our hearts. These strangers should be blindfolded while they are here, they have seen too much already."

Ayala remained silent for several seconds.

"I do not know if they shall accept that. They are strange folk, Legolas. Vlad appears Human, yet he is not like others. He is certainly not like Aragorn, for no one shall ever be as he. Perhaps you would be able to see something I do not. We should go find Syntoc and the others. Perhaps Vlad is with them."

Ayala looked down, but when her face lifted, it was filled with a glow like the rays of the Sun. In the Elven tongue, she said, "I wish to see Lorien in full glory with you. My heart is healing . . ."

She took Legolas' hand, and they walked together, looking for the others.

***

Emer watched as the Wizard made his way out of the valley. When he had gone, she moved slowly toward the Last Homely House, stopping at leisure to take in the beauty of the place, and to listen to snippets of song wafting from the treetops, smiling. Only a Silvan Elf could understand and fully appreciate the words of the song now coming to her ears. She sighed heavily, a mixture of joy and dread in her heart.

She passed the stables, noting the many horses there, which told her there was already a great number of arrivals for the meeting. Whether this spoke of good tidings or bad, she did not know. For a moment she stood unseen and gazed at the house itself. Had anyone looked at the spot where she now stood, they would have seen only leaf and bough, so melded was she with the trees.

At length she entered, scanning for friendly faces. Food and drink were offered, and she accepted them gladly.


	4. Rivendell

****

Chapter Four

Rivendell.

The Wanderer had finally reached Rivendell and, much to his relief, there appeared to be a good number of people already gathered. He assumed that there would be a council before any direct action was taken, and he was very thankful that he had not missed it due to his long journey south.

Still unsure of the welcome he would receive, the Wanderer employed some of his stealth abilities to walk up the house unseen. Upon entering, he noticed that a great quiet had come over the room, save some random whispering throughout. It appeared as though the Elves of Rivendell stared at him in what looked like disbelief, while those not native to Rivendell were merely curious as to who the Elves were staring at.

However, the Wanderer cared not for who was staring at him and who was not. The Wanderer cared only for a drink, for he was parched from the long road he traveled. He walked further into the room, seeking food and drink, with most of the talk continuing as if nothing had happened.

When he found where the drinks were being kept, an Elf tentatively offered him a mug of ale, which he accepted gladly. He found a nice quiet corner to sit in and sipped at his ale while he waited for the council to begin.

It was Legolas who had the honor of serving the Wanderer food and drink. Ale he brought the weary traveler, and a fresh loaf, and honey and well-aged cheese, and a bowl of stew which the Elves favor, nourishing and slightly spicy, of vegetables and herbs. When the traveler was eating heartily, Legolas stood before the assembly.

"My friends, I welcome you to Rivendell and offer you all the hospitalities of our fair valley. Emissaries from the Dwarven folk and the Men of Edoras are yet on the way here, along with others. Before we can convene the Council, we await their arrival. I ask for your patience, you will see why it is important that all are present when the Council is whole. Until then, we offer you rest and a respite from weariness." Legolas' eyes fell darkly on Vladimir Taltos. "There number among us some who are not of this realm. Whether their coming is chance or some ruse by the Lord of Mordor, none can say. I therefore put before you that these visitors should be blindfolded while in Rivendell, until it has been determined whether or not they are instruments of ill will."

A murmur arose in the crowd as people considered his words.

Loiosh hissed at Legolas.

"Now look here," began Vlad, standing up. "I don't know who you are . . . or most of the people here, but I will NOT be blindfolded. It seems as if we shall be here for a long time, and I don't find it fair that I should have to suffer for a long time."

_:You go, boss.:_

:Shut up, Loiosh.:

"I've offered to help against this evil, and I've told Syntoc quite a bit of my life that I never thought I'd tell anyone I hardly know. But if you plan to blindfold me, then I'm leaving. Got that?"

_:Um, boss . . . this guy seems kinda important. Are you sure it's wise to make him angry?:_

:Of course not, Loiosh.:

"Can't you do anything?" Vlad asked Ayala.

"I wish to help you, Vlad, but my people come before everything else. Do you understand?"

Vlad sat back down. "No . . . yes . . . I don't know. I do know that I don't want to be treated like a criminal . . ."

Ayala looked at Legolas. "Perhaps I shall be doing wrong, but I do not find it fair to blindfold him. We shall be here for many days yet until all the emissaries arrive. I have two proposals; one is to let him stay, not blindfolded, and if any wrong is done, I shall accept punishment for him. The other is for both of us to leave Rivendell, and we shall wait outside until the Council. Then he shall be brought back, blindfolded if you believe it necessary." Ayala stared into Legolas' eyes, her eyes betraying the torn feeling she was experiencing. "I cannot think of anything else."

Rocza suddenly flew to Ayala and licked her ear. Ayala scratched underneath her chin.

"I believe that Ayala and I have spoken to Vlad more than any of you. I see no sense in blindfolding him. He seems trustworthy, for the most part. If he later subdues to evil, I will personally take care of that. Until then, he will remain an honored guest in the House of Elrond. Now, I will have no more talk of treating this Man like a criminal!" Syntoc seldom got angry, but it could be seen in his eyes that he was now.

Legolas glared back at Syntoc. "Very well," he hissed, turning his fiery gaze to Taltos. "I will be watching you, stranger. Make no sudden moves. Ayala, it is unacceptable for you be punished if he proves traitorous. However, I ask you to keep him by your side and take him nowhere you would not take an enemy."

Legolas stalked angrily from the hall, seeking solitude.

Ayala looked down at the floor.

"Look," started Vlad. "I'm sorry for causing trouble."

"Tis not your fault, Vladimir. Legolas has gone through much already. He does not wish to see Middle Earth fall now. That is why he does not trust you quickly."

"Or ever. Now he reminds me of the Dragaerans I know and 'love.'"

_:Boss . . .:_

"Ok. Not entirely." Vlad looked at Ayala. "Aren't you going to go to him?"

"I cannot. I felt that he wished to be left alone, and if I were to take you with me . . ."

"Oh, yeah. He told you to watch over me, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"So, now what?"

"Perhaps . . . come. I will show you the library here. There I can find you the History of the War of the Ring. Then, perhaps, you will understand more of Legolas' pains."

"And what about your pains?"

Ayala looked at Vlad. "I did not accompany him at that time."

"That's what I meant."

Ayala eyed Vlad curiously but did not reply. She approached Syntoc. "I shall take Vladimir to the library, so he can read about the War of the Ring. He may gain more of an understanding then. If I am needed by anyone . . ." Ayala cut off her sentence as her eyes strayed to where Legolas had left, and she sighed. She led Vladimir to the library, Rocza still on her shoulder. She found a large book and handed it to Vladimir. Wordlessly, he sat down and began to read.

Rocza went over to a window and began to scratch at it. 

"She wants out," said Vlad. Ayala opened the window and Rocza flew out.

***

Edric returned to Rivendell with Bain and Larz in time to witness the exchange between Legolas, Vlad, and Ayala. He sidled over to Syntoc. "It is only another sign that we have lost our innocence," he sighed, "when the Fair Folk have lost their ability to trust. This is the legacy of the Ring War, my friend. I understand Legolas' trepidation, I too am wary of strangers. But shall we condemn before we understand? Evil times are coming and this is but the forewarning of the storm. We must take care not to lose heart, lest we turn on each other and doom all."

"I agree with you so, Edric. We cannot destroy ourselves. If you will excuse me, I have been informed that a Man by the name of Draco is approaching Rivendell. I am to go fetch him. Watch out for things while I am gone. Do not let the Council begin without me, Edric. I am trusting you, friend." Syntoc walked off in the direction of Gondor.

"I will do so, my brother," Edric called after Syntoc, watching with worry. Soon the roads would be watched, guarded, some impassible, as the Dark Lord tightened his noose. Edric was fond of wandering afar, and this grieved him.

"Fare thee well," he cried to Syntoc, who waved from the distance. Edric smiled, knowing Syntoc could travel with great haste when needed.

***

The Jhereg, Rocza, circled the library once, then started to fly around until she saw Legolas. She landed near him, hissed once to gain his attention, then cocked her head to the side, looking at him intently.

Legolas sat beneath a tree. Nearby a fountain played in the sunlight, speaking to itself in its own silvery tongue. He lifted his eyes upon hearing the hiss to find the creature called Rocza regarding him steadily.

Legolas gazed back with Elven fire, but the creature was unabashed. Many races cringed from the bright eyes of the Elves. Perhaps there was more to this Rocza than met the eye. He set down the flowers he had been weaving into a crown for Ayala and raised his hand in a gesture of assent. Then Rocza landed on his forearm gently.

"Perhaps I was hasty in my judgement of you and your companions," he said softly, to himself as well as to Rocza. "I did not wish for leadership, yet circumstance has thrust it upon me. And I did not wish anything to come between myself and Ayala, so soon after we were reunited, and so long I waited for that day, and feared it would never come . . ."

Legolas began to sing, the song of Luthien Tinuviel, she of rare and precious beauty, and into the song his own emotions rang, for the love of Middle Earth and Ayala Proudbow. Rocza cocked her head, listening. If these newcomers would know Middle Earth, Legolas would show them its heart, so they would know all that could be lost if treachery was their aim.

Rocza jumped onto Legolas' shoulder and began to lick his ear. She then jumped to the ground, picked up the flower crown, and set it in his hands. Several seconds later, Loiosh appeared. Rocza hissed at him, and Loiosh hissed back. Rocza cocked her head. Loiosh hissed. Rocza jumped to Legolas' shoulder again. Loiosh then left.

Legolas finished braiding the stems and binding them to the framework of twigs. He added a flower here and there until he was satisfied. The eyes of Rocza glimmered merrily.

"You're like a wee Dragon. Far you could go, swiftly and unhindered, and far you have been."

Legolas felt a calm issue from the creature. It was soothing, but he was wary of witchery. He picked up the crown of flowers.

"Will you take this to the Lady Ayala?" he asked, wondering if the creature would understand his speech. He repeated his request in the Elven tongue.

Rocza picked the crown up and flew off. She circled near the library, then entered.

***

Vlad looked up from his reading as Loiosh came in. "Found her, hmm? Loiosh says he found Rocza with Legolas, and she's not going anywhere."

"She was with Legolas?" said Ayala, startled. "I suppose that is a good sign . . ."

"Well, we hope."

"Vlad . . . is it possible for others to talk to Loiosh and Rocza?"

"Yes, but only through telepathy, though mind-talk. I don't know if you guys know how to do that. You see, with Loiosh and I, it's different. We have a connection because he's my familiar. It's like talking regularly. But with Rocza, I have to talk to her through telepathy. They're amazingly smart creatures, you know? Rocza understands everything Legolas is saying. I wonder if he realizes that . . ."

_:Thanks, boss.:_

:For what?:

:For the compliment.:

:Don't worry, Loiosh. I didn't mean you.:

:Thanks. One dead teckla for your pillow.:

:If you can find one . . .:

"How is the book?" asked Ayala.

"Oh . . . I'm beginning to understand why Legolas isn't trusting anyone at this time . . ."

Edric entered the library to see how the newcomers were getting on.

"Reading up on the Ring War, I see. Good, good. When you have been brought up to date on our history, it would be prudent in my opinion if you were to give a detailed talk about your own world and how you got to this one. Such an explanation would engender trust." Edric took out his pipe and began to smoke, blowing rings that wafted lazily toward the wooden ceiling, much to the chagrin of the watching Elven guard.

"Welcome back, Rocza," called Vlad, as Rocza flew into the library. Rocza dropped the crown on Ayala's head, then landed on Edric's shoulder. "Fine. I don't like you either," said Vlad. Rocza hissed. Loiosh hissed back. Ayala removed the crown, looked at it, blushed, then put it on her head. Vlad closed the book.

"So do you want me tell you or wait until we're all together?" asked Vlad of Edric. "I've told some to Syntoc."

"We do have a good deal of waiting ahead of us until all are here. I must admit I am bewildered and astonished by your appearance here, Vladimir. How came you here? The very reason we are all gathering here has to do with very much the manner in which you may have come here to Middle Earth, thus the reason for the fear and mistrust you have encountered. I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to reveal any more than this: the Dark Lord would like nothing more than to get his hands on something that gives the ability to do what you have already done. The more that is known about you, the more you will be considered a friend, and not a potential enemy."

Vlad looked at Edric closely. "I don't know how I came here. That's the problem. I was taking a boy back to his home, and then I felt very hot and my head hurt . . . a lot. I blacked out. Then I woke up and had a jhereg poking me. That's about it." Vlad shrugged.

"It is very strange that at such a time, someone from beyond our land would appear," said Ayala. "Do you believe it is the work of the Dark Lord, Edric?"

Edric pondered long, considering Vladimir's words before answering.

"No, Ayala, I do not think the Dark Lord would trouble himself to bring Vladimir here only to leave him in our midst. The Dark Lord has other spies, more effective spies, spies that know the lands, the languages, our strengths and weaknesses. Still I cannot help but feel there is some relation to that which the Dark Lord covets."

Edric passed a hand over his hair, once golden, now beginning to gray. "If Vlad himself cannot tell us, I can only presume he means us no harm, and that he is as confused and frightened by the manner of his coming here as we are. All will be made clear at Council, understanding will be gained, and there our plans can be made. It serves nothing to strategize until we have heard tales from all the races and lands, then we will truly know what we are facing and how best to proceed. It is good that we tarried not in coming together, for our need is in swiftness, and stealth. It bodes well that the Wanderer has come into our midst, he will be a great strength to us. We need all our strengths in the end, together, or we will see Middle Earth laid waste beyond repair."

Edric turned away so that they would not see the tears shining in his eyes.

At that moment another Wizard entered the room. "Edric, friend, it has been some time since we have seen each other, has it not? I haven't been to the Council in some time. What news have you heard?"

Ayala jumped a little, and Vlad's eyes darted to this second Wizard.

"Who are you?" asked Vlad.

Ayala noticed something shiny in Vlad's hand, and she stiffened. "Vlad . . ."

"What?"

"This is not the place . . ."

The shiny object disappeared. "Sorry. It's habit. Hard to break."

"I would learn to break it here. You will not gain people's trust otherwise."

Vlad shrugged. "I don't need them to trust me. I . . . nevermind."

Ayala did not reply.

"I am Zindel the Red, sir; a member of the Council of the Wise. I imagine you have already met Syntoc and Edric, who were already dispatched here." Zindel turned to Edric. "Where is Syntoc, anyhow?"

"Greetings, Zindel, my old friend. Syntoc went to fetch young Draco of Minas Tirith," Edric said.

***

Emer brought the Wanderer another mug of ale. "You have journeyed far," she said. "Your name is spoken with reverence among the Elves of Mirkwood. Be welcome here. If you are hungry, I shall bring you food, the tables are full, Rivendell is a land of bounty, though for how long I cannot say." Her eyes grew shadowed.

The Wanderer gratefully accepted the second mug of ale from Emer. "My journey was long indeed," he said. "Though I was unaware that I was spoken of in such a manner in Mirkwood . . . I have not been there in quite some time."

It was then that the Wanderer noticed the expression on Emer's face change. Perhaps it was fear of an impending war, or maybe doubt of whether or not good would prevail over the Enemy. "Do not worry," said the Wanderer. "Be happy now while there is still time. Evil has never set foot within the boundaries of Rivendell . . . and there are many, including myself, who would gladly die to keep it that way."

Though the Wanderer's words were meant to lift spirits, they had the opposite effect on him. Could they possibly prevail against the Enemy? It seemed that only time would tell . . .

"And I would rather die thusly." Emer took a deep and cleansing breath. "This war will not be like the other, I fear. The Dark Lord has already struck at the heart of Mirkwood, he comes to us in dreams, bidding us to his foul will, tempting us." Emer had told no one of the dreams, and the words came rushing out. "It is hard, hard to resist him. We live in the darkness of Mirkwood, yet we embrace it, it is not the darkness of evil but a comfort, it is the heaviness of the years of the trees that lays over our heads, like a womb, but the Dark Lord will twist that darkness, take from it its essence, as he will do to all things and all lands. I was tempted by him, I bring danger to this fair house by my presence, because I have knowledge of one part of what he seeks most, and I fear for the harm I could unwittingly do." Emer regarded the Wanderer in sudden silence, wondering if perhaps she should take up the path he had, and travel afar, thus avoiding bringing evil at her heels.


	5. Gondor

****

Chapter Five

Gondor

Draco took delight in traveling alone through Gondor, knowing that this capricious sense of freedom was temporary made it no less powerful. He fished, hunted, slept when he wanted, usually a few hours in the afternoon. Golden summer lay over the land, and it was difficult to believe that the threat again rose in Mordor. But Draco's heart was not fooled; the land had healed, but there were still stains of war to be seen. Just before the noon hour he had passed a circle of standing stones, erected to commemorate a battle between the Men of Rohan and the Orcs of Sauron. Draco's blood had chilled at the sight in spite of the summer heat.

He thought long about his grandfather, Denethor, who in despair had taken his own life, and almost had taken Draco's father, Faramir, with him. How different the history of Minas Tirith would have been had Denethor succeeded. King Elessar had brought peace and order, but now that he was gone, Lady Evenstar faltered in his place, longing for Valinor, which she would never see now, having chosen mortality over life eternal. Draco could not help but pity her, even though she had lived far longer than any mortal woman.

By morning he would come to Rohan and meet with his relatives, passing the news and securing their aid for Gondor and Rivendell. He expected to arrive in Rivendell with those also wishing to partake in the council there. Until tomorrow, he would enjoy his last night of freedom before the mantle of responsibility fell full upon his shoulders, and he camped beside a stream, swam, fished, sang, and watched the stars of summer wheel overhead while his horse grazed untroubled in the meadows beyond.

***

Morrolan saw the Man known as Draco resting contently. He whistled softly, and a girl appeared.

"Hmmm . . . he's cute," she said.

"That was not what I wished to hear."

"What's wrong, Morro-chan? Does it bother you?"

Morrolan glared at the girl, and she returned the favor. It would appear to those who saw them a silly scene, for the girl was nearly five feet two inches, while the other was over seven feet. She wore a white dress, with the neckline low. He wore the black and silver of the Dragon. His hair was black and shoulder length, while hers was white and down to her ankles. A sword hung at both their sides, but his was a Great Weapon. He also carried a plain blade. Her face was nearly as white as her clothing, and she had a blue diamond on her forehead. His face was a slightly darker color. 

She smiled. "You want me to go spy on him?"

"It is not honorable . . ."

"Ok. Bye!"

"Lunea!" he called, but she was already near the Man, staring down at him from a nearby tree. She teleported closer, so she was right above him.

***

The man laughed. Two more pawns had entered the game. He watched them all, wondering what would happen. He leaned back in his throne, contemplating the next move . . .

***

Arwen stood behind a tree, watching, making no sound, her fingers pressed against the jigsaw of the bark, for it was an old and stately pine. She saw the girl bent over Draco, son of Faramir, and before the girl could look up, an arrow was trained on her heart.

"Halt!" cried Arwen. "Or I will kill you where you stand. A great mustering of horsemen approaches, the Riders of Rohan. If you are not alone, all your company will be slain, but you firstly, by me. State your intentions!"

The girl looked up, her eyes full of shock. "What is this? This must be an evil time for one noble such as yourself to try and kill a girl. I was only watching him. And anyway, my friend wouldn't appreciate that."

Morrolan stepped forward, his sword, Blackwand, drawn. Its evil presence made the horses back away, for it cried for blood.

"Better sheath the blade, Morrolan," said Lunea. "They won't appreciate your Great Weapon. In fact, they probably think you're with the enemy because of its presence."

Morrolan hesitated, then sheathed the blade. The presence of the Great Weapon was dimmed.

"Look. I know this appears bad, but I wasn't going to hurt him. I just wanted to see who he was and if he could help us out. We were looking for a friend of ours and then we were here suddenly . . . no warning whatsoever. And my friend here . . . well, he's different. It's not his fault he looks evil . . . Dragaerans are just like that. Honest."

Morrolan glared at Lunea. "What is that comment supposed to mean?"

"Well, to most people, you do look rather spooky. Black is death to other people, except for you Dragaerans."

"Black is sorcery. Grey is death."

"Fine. Whatever. You don't help matters dressed in black and wearing that blade of yours!"

"I will not leave Blackwand."

"Then we get in trouble. So quit complaining, will ya?"

"I was merely . . ."

"Nevermind!" Lunea moved very slowly to show that she wouldn't do anything and sat down on the branch. "Honestly, I never thought I'd be stuck here with all the Fair Folk . . . and with you! You look like an Elf, but . . ."

"I am Human."

" . . . claim to be Human. My point proven."

After several seconds of silence, Lunea took out her harp and began to play a song of great beauty, her aura a sharp contrast to the Great Weapon, suppressing its presence. A bird alighted on her shoulder, and she began to sing, amazingly enough, in the Elven tongue. The diamond on her forehead emitted a soft blue glow.

***

Marigold, the Ent, and the Shirriff (who was beginning to try her nerves sorely) were passing the Gap of Rohan, intent on finding water for the Ent, who was parched, when they heard the unmistakable music of a rushing stream. They turned their tired ponies to it and stumbled upon an amazing sight.

Two women were standing over a sleeping man. The tallest of the two had the shorter at arrow point.

Marigold's mouth dropped open; the taller woman was an Elf, and one of some importance judging by her rich raiment and her stance. She was stunning, her dark hair flowing out behind her, and there was a sort of aura about her. The other woman argued with the Elf, then took a harp from her pack and began playing. Marigold was agog until reason stirred her to move before the Shirriff said something daft and got them both shot.

Marigold jumped from her pony and then hesitated. She had no weapons, no skill; she would be a lamb to the slaughter.

"Greetings," she called timidly. "I am Marigold Took of the Shire." She bowed, adding a hasty, "at your service." She looked from the Elf to the other sagely, as if she were an old hand at this. "May I ask who you are?"

"My nobility is of no concern to you," cried Arwen to Lunea. "Drop that harp or I will shoot it from your hands, I will stand for no foreign witchcraft."

Arwen turned her head briefly and nodded to acknowledge the Hobbit's presence. "Stay back, gentle one," she said to Marigold. 'These are invaders from some foul foreign land. I will not allow them to harm the son of Faramir."

Arwen's hand was steady, and the arrow remained poised for flight; its path would bring sure death if the girl moved. Arwen grinned slightly as she heard the thundering of hooves. The riders were drawing very near. "I will take you as my prisoner. Place the harp on the ground. Make no sudden moves." She fixed the other with a piercing gaze. "Lay your sword on the ground or the girl dies."

Morrolan's knuckles became white, holding Blackwand.

The song ended suddenly with an awful twang. Lunea dropped the harp, which broke in half near Draco. 

"I," started the girl softly, "do not do witchcraft. My friend over there does, and so does our other friend, Lady Arwen," said Lunea, floating slowly down beside Draco. "Yes . . . that's right, I know your name, and I, in fact, know some of your past. You used to be kind . . ." Her gaze turned to Marigold. "Hello, Lady Hobbit. You seem like a nice sort of person. I wish I'd met you before." Lunea looked back at Arwen, her eyes now a pale grey, which once were blue. "If it matters to you at all, which it obviously does not, the land Morrolan came from is not exactly foul. Elves should know better, for in all lands can one small thing be found that is fair. As for me . . ." Lunea laughed. "I don't come from either of these lands. There is no magic or Elves or Dragaerans or anything like this. Ok? Happy? I'm not, but I keep forgetting . . . you don't care . . ." Lunea turned away. "I thought I'd be happy to come here . . . but I guess things have changed . . ." She sighed.

After a short time, Lunea turned back. "We will be your prisoners, and we won't fight. But Morrolan will _not_ allow his sword, Blackwand, to be touched by any. I will ride next to you, and the moment he shows that he may try to kill someone, then you can kill me. Ok?" Lunea said happily.

Morrolan released his sword. "Lunea . . ."

"It's ok, Morrolan," the girl replied, her voice weak. "I can always get a new one anyway . . ." Lunea picked up the pieces of the harp slowly. "Well?"

***

Syntoc saw from a distance what was going on around the one that must be Draco. Coming up behind Arwen in secrecy, he beat her in the head with his staff, and grabbed her bow before she could realize what was done. "Think with your head, Arwen. I do not believe these people mean harm. Not yet, anyway. I know of this friend they speak of as well. Now, come with me. Let's try to get along, shall we?" Syntoc threw the bow back at Arwen.

Lunea jumped a little. "Oh. Does that mean I don't have to be killed? You're a Wizard, aren't you? I was told to give this to a Wizard. This guy wearing white clothing gave it to me. Nice guy, mind you . . . his aura was pure." Lunea removed a pendent from around her neck. The colors changed as it was handed to the Wizard.

"Thank you, Lunea. I have been wondering where this was for some time. Finally it falls into my hands. Who gave this do you? I assume it would be Gandalf, but perhaps he had a messenger. Thank you again."

Before Lunea had a chance to answer, Draco awoke, slightly confused, seeing the strange girl standing nearby. His eyes grew wide when he saw Lady Evenstar, and he knelt before her. She looked very angry, and unbearably beautiful in mail, her bow resting gracefully in her hand. Draco shook his head in wonder. There were two Halflings and a man who was a Wizard if Draco had ever seen one.

"Are you bound for Rivendell?" the Wizard asked.

"Yes, for the Council, I am to represent Minas Tirith." He bowed again to Lady Evenstar. "Are you bound there also, Queen? Alas, I would have ridden with you."

Draco felt confused by all the anger. "What has happened?" he asked.

Before anyone could answer, the ground shook with the pounding of many hooves, and they were encircled by the Riders of Rohan, a battalion of fifty.

"Father," Draco cried, rushing to the side of his father's great steed. Beside him was Draco's mother, Eowyn, riding a bay mare.

"We'll ride the rest of the way with you to Rivendell."

With that the entire company set off, and Draco was burning with questions that he would now have to wait to get answered.

Morrolan cursed. "This is foolish. She tried to kill us several seconds ago. Now we are going to ride with her?"

Lunea did answer, but whistled. Seconds later a great black horse with blue highlights rode up. There was a horn in the center of its forehead. Lunea spoke some words to it, and it allowed Morrolan to ride it. Lunea floated beside Morrolan, and they caught up to the party riding off. 

Lunea caught up to Draco. "I wasn't going to do anything," she said, her eyes green. "I just wanted to see what you were going to do . . . which I guess is spying, but I wouldn't hurt you. I saw that you were good. Honest."

Faramir turned a little to look at her. "I believe I have seen you before . . ."

"Yes!" cried the girl. "I was wondering when someone would recognize me!" Lunea clapped her hands. "I couldn't float then, however. No fun at all. Flying is useful, you know?" she said to Marigold. Lunea braided her hair. Eowyn laughed at the scene of a frightened Hobbit, riding, having her hair braided by a girl who flew.

Several seconds later, some butterflies floated by. They surrounded Lunea, who was still flying. She swerved around the party, the butterflies following her, and flew near Arwen. "Look, I'm sorry for the misunderstanding. So, I wanted to give you this as a token." Lunea handed Arwen a small, crystal flower made by an Elf. A butterfly landed on it. "Silly," the girl said. "That isn't real." Lunea flew off again.

Marigold dug her heels into the pony's sides until it caught up with Draco's horse. "Hello, I'm Marigold," she said. She felt herself begin to blush. He was very handsome, with strange grey eyes. She'd never seen anyone like him before. She'd never seen anyone at all before, she realized, except Hobbits and the occasional traveler at the Inn, and she barely paid attention.

"What exactly happened back there? Did you see?"

"Some of it. The pretty girl with the strange horse was standing over you." Marigold patted her braided hair with pride. "And the Elf was trying to protect you, and the Wizard snuck up behind her and bopped her on the head with his stick . . ." Suddenly Marigold burst out laughing, great fits of giggles that wouldn't stop. "Then the Wizard hollered at her, and she said something back, I couldn't make it out, oh, I'm awfully sorry, but I'm tired, you see . . ." She doubled over in a fit of laughter.

"We were taking the Entwife back to . . . Oh my gracious, the Entwife! I've got to go back and fetch her. Shirriff! Come on!"

She doubled back to the Shirriff on his slow, lumbering pony.

Syntoc rode up to Draco. "We must speak in private later. It is a matter of urgency, but it can wait until Rivendell."

"Of course, Lord Wizard," Draco replied, watching Marigold disappearing into the distance. "I'm going to ride with them until they deliver the Entwife to her destination, I'll rejoin you as soon as may be, or see you in Rivendell. I'll bring the Halflings with me; they should be represented at the Council, after the part they played in the War of the Ring."

Draco broke formation with the large company and rode after Marigold and the other Hobbit. It wasn't safe for them to be going alone.

Lunea watched as Draco and Marigold headed off, then she flew to Syntoc. "The stone came from Gandalf, of course." She answered his earlier question. "He sent me a request to visit him, and he told us what has happened. Then I went back to Morrolan and told him to come."

Morrolan snorted. "You did not tell me to come."

"Fine. I convinced you to come." Lunea looked at Syntoc closely. "You really do not remember me, do you?" She looked away. "What of Marigold and Draco? Will they be all right going by themselves in such a time?"

"This stone means a great amount, Lunea. It announces Gandalf's retirement from leading the Council of the Wise. By passing this stone on to me, he has named me his heir. I am now Syntoc the White, you see. As for Draco, I was sent to protect him, and that I shall do. Listen to Arwen. I shall see you when we get to Rivendell. Be sure to tell a man named Edric the Golden of my promotion." Syntoc ran off toward Draco.

"Did I hear correctly?" said Morrolan.

"Yes. We follow Arwen. Still . . . I do not believe even the Wizards are not understanding . . ."

"Not understanding?"

"Yes," Lunea's voice went down to a whisper so only Morrolan could hear. "They do not know about me . . . they don't even remember me, and they don't recognize this." Lunea held up her wrist, displaying a bracelet with one white stone.

"But what is it?"

Lunea did not reply. Then, suddenly with a smile, she said, "I can't tell you!"

Morrolan glared at her.

Lunea looked at Arwen. "Well, enough partying," she said loudly. "Are we going to move along or are we going to sit here and wait until that old geezer who calls himself a Dark Lord comes upon us?"

Arwen did not reply. She rode flanked by the strongest of the Riders of Rohan, still burning with anger at the Wizard's treatment of her. Syntoc dared much, for which he would answer when the Council met, unless he had inside knowledge about these strange people who had seemed to come from nowhere.

And why had Faramir acted as if he knew them? Arwen could not stand idly by while all that her husband had worked for was unraveled by the folly of a few. She would have answers or die trying to get them.

Lunea looked at Arwen. "She's mad, I guess. Oh well. Foolish Elves. They're the happiest of the bunch, but when it comes down to it . . . Arwen! I'm going on ahead to Rivendell. I'll meet you there soon!" Lunea winked at Morrolan, then flew off, much faster than a bird.


	6. Of Ents and Entwives

****

Chapter Six

Of Ents and Entwives

Few words were shared among the group as they concentrated on catching up to the Entwife. After scrambling over hill and dale, they finally found her. Draco climbed from his horse, who flashed him a mutinous look and pranced away to graze.

There was much hooming and homing coming from the Ent as the Hobbit made her apologies for having left her behind. Once the Entwife had been sorted out, they shared a meal of lembas and the last of the mead they carried. It seemed a mighty feast after the long days on the road.

"Marvelous, isn't it, that Marigold happened upon the Entwife, and she can now be reunited with her own kind, and tell the rest of the Ents were their mates can be found. I expect we'll see them going from here to there far more often now."

Syntoc agreed solemnly. "Now there will be Entings, and the race will carry on, and those of old will not fade into memory." Syntoc looked pleased.

Draco felt the energy issuing from the Wizard, the controlled power, all the things he himself wanted to learn. While Marigold was fussing over the Entwife, trying to prepare her for her meeting with the Ents, Draco asked the Wizard a question. "Master, I would learn from you, and be your pupil, for I feel I carry the makings of power, that you and I are cut from the same cloth. If it is not so, kindly tell me. If it is, will you see to my teaching, when time permits?"

"Draco, young man, that is the exact reason I wish to speak with you. I feel a power leak from you that, if unharnessed, could become a potential weapon of the Enemy. Yet, if controlled, it can be the strongest of allies. So, Sir Draco, I see no better time than the present to begin your teaching. As the time becomes necessary, I will teach. As for until we arrive at Rivendell, simply ponder the possibilities of your power. What do you think it could do for you? More importantly, what do you think it could for the common good? I suppose you should know your proper title. Being a student and not a Wizard yet, you are merely Draco the Wise. Stay with me, young one, and I will help make you great. Now, we must hurry. I feel that the remainder of the Council is us. The others are waiting. Let us not tarry long." Syntoc hurried toward the Entwife and Hobbit.

It was not long before they reached Fangorn. It was difficult at first to tell the Ents from the trees, so tightly packed together they all seemed to be, but then it seemed that Marigold's eyes cleared, and it was obvious who was who.

One Ent approached, and Marigold felt great joy radiating from him. She began to weep for their happiness, and in sadness that she would part from the Entwife who was called Fimbrethil. Soon all the Ents began trumpeting greetings, and a great stirring of deep sounds began, and the Hobbit and the two men stood in the center of it, filled with wonder.

"A great Council of War is gathering," Marigold said to the elder of the Ents. "Do you wish to journey with us and be represented, for your part was great in the overthrow of Saruman, and you should be counted as heroes, and not left out of the noble deeds coming. I know you dislike haste, but we must be off soon, many are waiting.

The Ents considered it in the most hasty fashion possible, and the elder, who was called Graybough, agreed to come with them, along with Fimbrethil.

The other Ents called an Entmoot, which would no doubt be only just beginning by the time they returned.

Marigold set off with them again, riding a little behind as the two men talked, chastening herself. She should be on the way home, not going off like a bold warrior to meet the bravest and best in all Middle Earth. Mother would need her help at the Inn, before Digger Gamgee fancied himself the new owner and began to take advantage of her. Marigold hadn't seen Doireann for the better part of the day. As soon as she returned, Marigold would ask her to take a message to the Shire.

She settled in the saddle, which was beginning to feel most uncomfortable. At least the Shirriff would be leaving them soon, he could take news home as well. He wasn't a bad old fellow, just tiresome with all his fanciful tales of the past, none of which he had been actively involved in.

Marigold sighed, wishing (not for the first time since setting out) for a nice cup of tea and a few biscuits to go with it, and a meal on a proper plate and window to look out of while eating it.

"I'm here, Marigold," Doireann tinkled into Marigold's left ear. "I was hungry and found some nectar-this is splendid country, I must visit again! I heard your thought, I'll just zip back to the Shire and tell your mother and uncle that you'll be going off to Rivendell. I shall see you there!"

Doireann's diaphanous wings beat so quickly they became a blur, and she was off.

Draco thought long on all that Syntoc had told him. A potential weapon of the Enemy . . . Draco would do anything to keep that from happening.

Undertaking this also meant never returning home.

He couldn't wait to get away a matter of days ago, now he felt wistful. He had hoped for so long that this was his destiny, now that it was here, he felt many unexpected things. Father would be pleased, for it was he alone who had encouraged what Draco had once struggled to hide. His mother, however, would think it was a dark road, ill-trod, though she spoke of Gandalf the Gray with great respect, she had always said the storm followed at this heels. They slowed a bit so the Hobbits could catch up, and the Ents strode tirelessly beside. In spite of the hard times ahead, something remarkable had happened in the reunion of these two, and Draco was proud to have been part of it.

Graybough's joy knew no bounds. For long, long years the Entwives had been sought. Graybough smiled. These Halflings kept their words, for Graybough had been by Treebeard's side when he had asked them to always keep watch for any sign of the Entwives. And so they had. And now there would be Entings again, and the Ents would not fade into the mists of history and obscurity, mere legends with no substance.

But once again the Dark Tower was occupied. As they strode, a bit ahead of the others, Graybough described to Fimbrethil with much hooming how the tower of Orthanc had been won by the Ents. It was a tale that would take long to tell, and Graybough would not tell it with haste. A deep sense of fulfillment spread through his limbs. Whatever may come, the Ents would not be felled from within. If they died defending, that would be another tale.

***

Doireann's wings buzzed loudly as she hovered over Pansy Took's shoulder.

"Doireann!" Pansy cried. "Where is Marigold?"

"Marigold is well," answered the Dragonfly. "The Ent was reunited with its kind. A great Council is gathering in Rivendell, a new Lord has risen in Mordor. Marigold has gone there to represent the Shire. She sends me to tell you she is well. I will return to her soon."

Doireann lit on the Hobbit's shoulder.

"Well, imagine that," said Pansy, standing behind the bar at the Green Dragon. "Another Took will be part of great doings." Pansy filled Doireann in on all the latest new of the Four Farthings.

There had been no talk of war here, only of the harvest to be got it and the summer celebration.

"Where is the Shirriff, Doireann?"

"On his way back here. He should be coming down the road soon."

"Please return to Marigold, and tell her to head straight home. Perhaps one of the riders could accompany her. What was I thinking, letting her go off like that with the Entwife? Did she find the Ents?"

"Yes. Two are also in Rivendell."

Pansy smiled tiredly, drawing another mug of ale for a patron. She wished she were there too, instead of here living with the everyday doldrums.

She watched Doireann take flight, feeling a pang of envy for Doireann's freedom. Pansy was exhausted and had barely slept since Marigold had gone, only in worried fits and starts. The sooner she returned home, the sooner things got back to normal. If so great a Council was meeting, perhaps nothing would ever be normal again.


	7. Arrival in Rivendell

****

Chapter Seven

Arrival in Rivendell

Legolas, now calm, returned to the House of Elrond. He wandered, speaking to the emissaries therein. The Dwarves had gotten restless, and he asked them for word of his dear friend, Gimli son of Gloin. He sat long with them as they told him tales of Gimli's exploits after the war, and of his growing family. Legolas smiled. Perhaps they would meet again before long.

The hour grew late, and sleep fell over the valley. In the first gloaming of dawn, Legolas woke, thinking of Ayala, and set off to find her. Before he could begin his search, scouts scrambled from the treetops.

"The Riders of Rohan approach. Arwen Evenstar leads them!" they cried.

Legolas rushed off to prepare a proper greeting for them.

Ayala joined Legolas. "I will help you prepare," she said with a smile.

***

Lunea reached Rivendell to find Vlad watching. "What? They put you on duty?" she asked. Her only answer was to see several Elves surround them.

"You . . ." said Vlad.

"Yes. I. Is there a problem?"

"I didn't expect to see you," he replied, a smile crossing his face.

Ayala rushed up to them. "Hold! Do not harm her!" She dismissed the other Elves. "May I ask your business?" asked Ayala.

"Yes, of course. He's my business," said Lunea with a smile.

"You . . . are from his land?"

"No. I'm here to help, but that will wait for the Council." Lunea turned to Vlad. "There's someone here with me."

"Oh? From 'my' world?"

"Yes."

"Male or female?"

"Male."

"Tall?"

"Yes."

"Dragaeran?"

"Yes."

"House?"

"Dragon."

"Morrolan . . ."

"You're good, Vlad. He's the only one I could drag away at the moment."

"Have you seen . . ."

"Yes, I have. She's ok, but that's all I can tell you now."

Vlad did not reply. 

Lunea turned to Ayala. "The Riders will be here very soon."

"All the preparations are nearly done."

"Good . . . because they're here . . ."

***

Arwen strode imperiously into the main hall of the Last Homely House, Faramir at her side, his dark head shining, and Eowyn beside him, fair as the morning. The sons and daughters of Middle Earth had gathered; proud Dwarves, Men tall and bold, Elves clad in shimmering gray-green, some with stars upon their brows, their eyes fiercely lit, for whenever there was conflict in the realm, it fell hardest on the Elvenkind; theirs was the heart of the realm; and the Men were its soul; and the Dwarves, its strength; the Halflings, its innocence . . .

"Hail," Arwen greeted. "From Gondor and the Mark, we come to partake. Many more will come if called hither, and all are alert. Syntoc the White will soon return with the son of Faramir and Eowyn, and a daughter of the Shire, and our numbers will be complete."

A murmured hush reached her ears.

"Indeed. Mithrandir has passed the yoke of the leadership of the Council of the Wise to Syntoc. Fear not, for Gandalf has chosen well. And still he lives, in Valinor . . ." Arwen's eyes grew veiled for a moment.

"Until the arrival of our comrades, I ask the hospitality of this house."

Elves came forward, taking from Arwen her cloak. Outside, horses were led away to stables. The hall rose and fell with voices as old friends met once again, until the long shadows of afternoon filled the corners. Arwen slipped away to seek the wisdom of one she considered as old friend herself.

***

"Ho!" cried Lunea. "Do not touch her! She will not be needing your stables!"

Lunea walked to the Unicorn and spoke some words. The Unicorn nodded, then galloped away.

"She is beautiful . . ." said Ayala.

"I'll tell her that! She's rather vain that way!" said Lunea, smiling. "They will be here soon."

"Who will?"

"Syntoc and the others. They will be returning." Lunea's smile disappeared. "Gandalf . . . finally he has withdrawn his status as the White, and it saddens me. Syntoc shall be great, no doubt, but he still has some big boots to fill, and they won't be easy to fill alone."

"Truly . . . you do not believe Syntoc can handle this? How is it that you know?"

"Hm?" Lunea's eyes focused on Ayala. "Have you ever seen the size of Gandalf's boots? They are huge! I couldn't believe my eyes. It would take at least two Syntocs to fill them, and I know there is only one . . ."

Ayala laughed.

"Seriously, though," continued Lunea. "I believe Syntoc can do it . . . he just hasn't flung himself into the job yet. I think he's still trying to get over Gandalf's formal leave."

"How do you know these things?"

Lunea smiled, saying nothing, and left.


	8. Ayala alone The Last Homely House

****

Chapter Eight

Ayala alone. The Last Homely House.

Legolas watched Ayala, kind and patient with Vladimir Taltos. He had not left her side. Legolas noted with deep happiness that she still wore the flowers he had woven into a crown for her. The torchlight danced on her fair hair like a corona, her eyes shining as others spoke to her. His heart darkened, seeing the way Taltos followed her.

"Edric," Legolas snared the Wizard who was at the moment alone. "Will you do something with the newcomer, Vladimir; give him a sleeping drought or something. I wish to speak to Ayala and he follows her like a moth to flame."

Edric lifted an eyebrow, smiling wryly. "Ah, I see." He chuckled. "I will be happy to do what I can." Legolas smiled in return and watched Edric stroll off in their direction.

There would not be much time, soon they would all be absorbed in council and plans. At last, Edric managed somehow to free Ayala from Taltos' grip, and she found her way over to his side. He took her arm gently and led her outside, into the cool and quiet evening. The sky was spangled with stars, bright against the deep azure of early evening.

"Ayala," he said softly. "Time runs short, soon we shall be away, on campaigns and errands." He touched the crown of flowers on her brow. "I would not be parted from you again, beloved Ayala, so I pledge you my troth, if you will accept it . . ." He lifted her face to his and kissed her.

Ayala looked into Legolas' eyes, her face red and her own eyes sparkling. "I do," she said simply, and kissed him again.

"I love you, Ayala," said Legolas, brushing the long hair from one side of her face. "Though dark times approach, still this is a day of great joy. Perhaps the Dark Lord can only take from us what we allow him to take." He kissed her white neck softly.

"And when this is over and the Dark Lord overthrown, we shall see our children dancing in the fair fields of Lorien." His hands moved through her hair, and they both smiled. 

***

Lunea flew through the window and hovered above the others.

"I love, err . . . love . . ."

"Hmm? Isn't it inappropriate to spy on others?" asked Morrolan.

"I wasn't spying! I just happened to be flying over . . ." said the girl.

Vlad grinned as he read a book, his eyes flickering to Lunea.

"Don't you dare a say word, Vladimir Taltos."

"I hadn't dreamed of it," he said, his grin widening as his eyes returned to the book.

"I wish I knew what was keeping them. Syntoc must have decided to follow the long road here," said Lunea, fluttering into a seat next to Edric. "We have much to speak of, so they better hurry up."

"How is that you know so much?" asked Morrolan irritably.

"Oh, bother. Wait for the Council, Morrolan."

***

Arwen, too, stole outside. She stood back a ways, admiring the Last Homely House. Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Father, would that you were still here, your counsel is more needed than ever before." She wept soundlessly, finding a low hanging branch to support her. Fair was the House of Elrond, and no matter how many sat at table there, there was always room. Arwen closed her eyes bitterly, until the tears passed. She had chosen love, the love of a mortal, and was now separated from all she loved most. Flinging her long hair behind her, she passed around the other side of the house. Memories assailed her when she spied the garden in the distance. Youth, and dreams, and songs and broken sonnets of poetry. She felt old now, and weary, ageless no longer.

She came upon a couple locked in an embrace. It was Legolas, and Ayala Proudbow of Mirkwood. The faintest of smiles touched Arwen's face at the obvious love between them. She crept away like a shadow, unheeded by them.

"May you never be parted and yet live," she whispered when she was out of their hearing. Someone approached. Arwen knew him by his footfalls.

"Edric. I would speak with you, I thank you for seeking me out. Please come and sit with me."

Arwen drew herself up so that he would not see the grief in her eyes. He saw only the wife of the King of Gondor, and they walked in the direction of the garden to find a place to talk.

"I am at your service as always, dear Lady," said Edric to Arwen. He kept his expression neutral, as if he did not see the pain that was so evident in her eyes.

"Edric," she began. "Does it not grieve you that you were not chosen by Mithrandir to lead the Council of the Wise, instead of Syntoc?"

"No, Lady. The correct choice was made. Syntoc will lead us with the same even hand and insight as Gandalf the Grey did. It is well. I am not old enough, or wise enough, and I have not suffered enough. My life has been one of ease in comparison to some of the other of the Wise. Though, I daresay, my time is coming."

"And mine as well," she replied.

"What is that troubles you, Lady Evenstar?"

***

Geharion circled far above, striking the air with long, barred wings. Even from afar, in this peaceful valley, the stench of evil reached him.

Geharion had come for the Council, and to offer the protection of the Eagles to those who bore that which would be discussed in Council. For it was the Eagles who knew where the third lay, the third and final, and the Dark Lord sought endlessly for the knowledge held in the high eyries. Far beyond his reach it had been, but for how long?

Geharion swept over the valley again, tireless in his vigil.

***

Draco had always thought Ithilien, where his father and mother dwelt, was the fairest land in all Middle Earth. In a moment, all his perceptions changed, as he took in his first view of Rivendell.

"It's fantastic," he whispered, and Marigold echoed his thoughts beside him, letting out small gasps of wonder.

Syntoc grinned. "There lies the Last Homely House, abode of Elrond," said the Wizard.

"Ooh, it's beautiful," said Marigold.

Above their heads, Elves flitted in the treetops, singing, and behind them the net of stars glimmered as a backdrop. Draco smiled up at them.

"Come along, children," urged Syntoc. "Many are waiting on us."

They entered the Great Hall, the wooden floors gleaming like glass, and Draco and Marigold took in the sight. There were people of all races, clad in fine robes and brilliant colors, and tables overflowing with food and drink. And bountiful laughter and merriment, it seemed more a celebration than a Council of War.

Syntoc nodded at Draco slightly as if catching the gist of his thoughts. An Elven woman came over to the three, taking their cloaks and bidding them welcome. Draco took the Hobbit's hand, and they began introducing themselves.

***

Legolas heard the sound of horses.

"Syntoc approaches," he said, reluctant to let go of Ayala. He would not tell her the envy he felt at Taltos' connection to her. They returned to the Great Hall, arm in arm. Only death could destroy the happiness Legolas felt now.

After they had entered the hall, Ayala looked around the room. "I believe it is time to call the meeting. Everyone seems to be here at last," she whispered to Legolas. She leaned her head onto his shoulder and sighed. "I only wish we were not talking of war . . ."


	9. The Anachron The Council

****

Chapter Nine

The Anachron. The Council.

Arwen rose from her place at the head of the table. The cadence of voices grew hushed, and then died altogether.

"Good people of Middle Earth, hear me. We come together once again, under to shadow of war and under a new peril. What that peril is, I will let Legolas Greenleaf explain to you. After he has spoke, representatives from each race will speak about sightings and strange goings on in their own lands, for these are all the Dark Lord's activities."

Arwen gestured to Legolas, who kissed Ayala's hand before assuming the speaker's position at the head of the table.

"My friends. I welcome you all to this table, where so many of our forebears have gathered in times such as these. All of the key players are now here. There is something of great import I must reveal to you." He took a deep breath and paused. If there were agents of the Enemy here, much would be lost. He forged ahead after a brief glance at his beloved, Ayala.

"Long ago, a gem of great power was forged here in Rivendell, in ages long past, and the hands that wrought this stone, and their children's and their children's children's, are dust now. This stone was called the Anachron. It gave the one who wielded it great power. The power to journey to other realms, and to bring others to this one. Other armies, other weapons, other methods of making war. When the Elves who wrought this stone realized its great power for destruction, they thereby deemed that it never be used, and that it be separated into three parts. And so it was. One was called the Arkenstone, and went to the Dwarves, where it was given up for lost in the hoard of Smaug until it was recovered by Thorin Oakenshield. The second part was the Green Silmaril of Mirkwood, which was hidden in the depths of that forest and has been guarded since by one family, dedicated to preserving its secret. The third was given to the Eagles and taken to be hidden among their kind, high in the snowy peaks where no Man or Elf comes. Two of the three have been brought here today-the Arkenstone, carried by Bain Warhammer, and the Silmaril of Mirkwood, carried by Emer Halfelven, who is of the guardian clan who have watched the stone for centuries. Geharion the Windlord is here, and knows the location of the third. I put before the Council that the Anachron be made whole, and then destroyed, for the Dark Lord seeks it, and if he finds it, he will have dominion over us all. A vote will be taken at the end of this Council. Before it is done, I wish a representative of each race to come forward, and speak of any sign of the Dark Lord or ill doings in their lands, so we may know of his activities."

Legolas slid into the chair next to Ayala, taking her hand beneath the table. It was difficult to look away from her, to keep his attention focused on what was being said when all he wanted was to be with her. His heart was soaring that she had accepted his troth, and he hoped dearly that they would have some time alone together before they were all sent off. She interlaced her fingers with his, and he smiled in spite of the grim words being spoken. So long he had loved her, and thought her lost over the Sea, and now she was beside him at last.

Edric moved into the speaker's position. "What Legolas did not tell you about the Anachron is something the Council has known for many, many centuries. It also gives the ability to travel to other times in all the realms mentioned, including this one. I do not have to mention the military ramifications this would have if the Dark Lord were to come into its possession. He would have all the might of Sauron in addition to the vast army already under his command. Few have known this, until now, because we felt the less who knew, the less who were in danger from the knowledge."

Edric's eyes narrowed. "As you are all aware, my friends, it falls on the Council to watch activity in Mordor, so it has since the days of Gandalf the Grey and before. And watch we have, but also we have moved. Spies have been sent into Mordor. Some returned, and some did not. Geharion the Windlord is one who did. The Wanderer also graces our midst, and much has he seen over the millennia. I call upon Geharion to tell what he has seen."

Geharion swept down and perched on the back of the speaker's chair.

"Edric speaks truly. I have recently returned from Mordor. The Dark Tower is once again full of activity, there are guards at the gates, and on Cirith Ungol. The Dark Lord, who is called Intathin, amasses a great army of Orcs and other foul creatures. Their numbers are even greater than in the day of Sauron. It seem's Sauron's heir has left nothing to chance."

Geharion paused. "These are not the only tidings I bring you. A fortnight ago, a dark shadow came into our lands. A foul beast of fire and air-the Nazgul. Eight Eagles were lost in battle against it, yet it prevailed, and took from us the last third of the Anachron. It is safe in our eyries no longer. Two thirds are here, in Rivendell. The other, in the Dark Lord's hands. If you would retrieve it, and put an end to the threat of the Anachron for all time, a quest to Mordor will be your only chance. Mighty are the treasuries there, you will have little chance to recover it. It grieves us to bring you such news, for we fought with all our might, but the Nazgul was too strong, we could have lost all our kind against it, for naught."

There was a great thrum of voices at this heavy tiding, and Geharion's wings trembled.

The Eagle brought grim news indeed. With the news of the return of the Nazgul and of the Dark Lord attaining one third of the Anachron, it seemed that the odds were in favor of Mordor.

"Unfortunately," said the Wanderer as he stood, "since I have been in the Far North for several years, I do not bring a great amount of news with me.

"All I can say is that there have been far more Wyrms and Fire-Drakes in the North than ever before . . . Some of them are even winged, though none are as great as Smaug and Ancalagon. I killed as many as I could, but their numbers were too great . . . All of the rest headed south, most likely toward Mordor."

The Wanderer had not brought much news with him, but news of Wyrms under the control of the Dark Lord was disheartening to many. The Wanderer sat with a solemn look on his face, deep in thought.

Vlad suddenly shook.

__

:Boss? Are you ok?:

:Yeah. Maybe. I just felt . . . as if a great gust of wind was building up strength . . .:

:Boss?:

:Nevermind . . .:

Ayala put her hand on Vlad's shoulder. "Are you alright?" she asked. "If you are cold . . ."

"Nah. I'm fine." Vlad turned, feeling someone's eyes on him, and looked at Lunea.

"Relax," she said. "It isn't your turn yet."

"And what about you?"

"The time will come . . . when I'm called."

"How do you know you'll be called?"

Lunea smiled. "If someone doesn't bother to call me . . . I'll make myself called."

"I bet."

"Quiet, both of you," hissed Morrolan. "I wish to hear this."

"When did he become so interested?" asked Lunea.

Morrolan kicked her chair softly, and Lunea clasped her hands over her mouth, giggling.

"Be quiet!" said Syntoc.

"Sorry . . ." they all said.

Ayala smiled, shaking her head.

"I apologize for interrupting, but if I may speak . . ." Syntoc stood slowly. "I know of more information than my friend Edric. I apologize if you feel degraded, sir. I missed many meetings with the Council of the Wise, but only because Gandalf requested it to be so. He wished for me to study the Anachron; to learn of its becoming. Many do not know that a second one was also made, merely weaker in energy. This stone was not disassembled, and gave the bearer, and all those connected to the stone, the ability to travel from one place to the other. Many of those do not understand how to control this power, and it is used without understanding. Now, we learn of Vladimir Taltos and his 'Orb' that he speaks of. He knew not how to control the power of the Orb, which is actually the other stone, and traveled here. I am assuming that my old friend Lunea could tell you more. If you will, m'lady . . ."

***

Along one side of the Last Homely House, a creature shuffled along, mumbling and spitting.

"Oooh, the light hurts our eyes, yess it does," the creature spat. "And the smell of Elves everywhere, fierce Elves with bright eyes, we hates them, we does . . ."

The creature shrieked as long, nimble fingers seized it, dragging it into the hall.

"Let us go, let uss go," it moaned. "We knows you have it, the lovely stone."

"Well, well, what have we here," Emer grumbled as she struggled to hold onto the thrashing, slimy creature. It was trying very hard to sink its teeth into the back of her hand.

"How did you enter this valley unseen?" she asked it. "Who and what are you?"

The creature shrieked when the Elf turned its bright eyes on him.

"Deagol is not evil, we hates Elves, yess, we hates them, their bright eyes hurts us. Thieves! You stole our green treasure, and we wants it back!"

Lunea stood up with eyes closed.

"Creature of evil . . . never speak of taking the Anachron again, or your fate will be the same as Gollum's!" The creature stopped thrashing as Lunea glared at it with her golden eyes. She turned to the Council.

"My friends, you despair too quickly. The Dragons and such may be controlled by the Dark, but that does not necessarily mean their hold cannot be released. It is true that I know of both of the Anachrons. I fear I also know of the evil. I knew of him before Sauron was destroyed, in fact." Lunea stopped for a second and shivered. "We shall not discuss what happened. We were both not at one with our powers at the time. Anyway . . . when Sauron was destroyed, this Dark One went away, and I have been fighting him here and there, but he has slowly gained strength." Lunea shook her head. "The Orb, as Vlad has spoken of it, is the second Anachron, but I would not say that it is not as powerful as the first. The Orb has linked to new powers in that land. It has changed, in other words. If you were to bring it here, it would not be as strong, for its power source would be cut off. If you brought the Anachron we speak of there, the Orb would be just as strong. However, the Orb is not in question. We will not bring the Orb here, for the Empire would surely fall again." Lunea's eyes looked at Morrolan. "Am I right?"

"Yes. I don't think we want a repetition of that time."

Lunea's eyes turned back to the Council. "You all fear that because a part of the Anachron is taken, then all is lost. Some of your hopes lied in using the second Anachron. Each part of the Anachron holds power, my friends. We can use that power to fight the evil. We are not lost yet. You have many great people here, willing to fight." Her eyes turned to Draco. "We have great power. The question is if we are willing to use it. In the process of saving Middle Earth, mortals who use their inner power might lose themselves . . . like Frodo. Is there anyone willing to do that?"

A silence filled the room.

"Who are you?" asked Ayala suddenly.

"Very good question. I was wondering when someone would ask me. Some people have recognized me. You may all call me Lunea, for I will not tell you my real name. I was born as a Human, but I have changed. I am now a Mage . . ."

Ayala gasped.

"Yes. I believe you may have heard legends of Mages, but have never seen one . . . or maybe you have. We are similar to the Wizards, though not of the same origin, for we fight against Evil. There are nine Mages. I am told to be the second strongest of them . . . and the youngest." A smile crossed Lunea's face. "I am the Mage of Time, and am called, like Syntoc shall be called, the White. The other Mages are around you, though you cannot identify them. I can, and there is only one other here. Do you think you can guess?" Lunea smiled as some looked around. "Do you have any other questions for me, or for my friends from abroad?"

There was a flurry of questions, and Draco turned to Marigold, who was trying to watch and listen to everyone at once.

"This sounds like a job for one of those famous Hobbit burglars," he said, smiling. "If you decide to undertake the quest, I'll go with you."

He squeezed her hand, seeing the terrified look that came into her eyes. Still, she smiled. She had the sweetest smile he'd ever seen. He realized with a shock that he was falling in love with her.

"It is well known to the Elves of Lorien what the three stones alone are capable of. How you came by this knowledge, Witch, you will tell us now. And what is the name of this realm from whence you come? What reassurance have we that you are not here at the behest of the Dark Lord himself? You know much about Sauron it seems, was he your master?" Arwen rose angrily from the chair, the Men of Rohan beside her, and Eowyn to her left like a shieldmaiden of legend. "You would not tell me before, so you will now before all this company, how came you here, and why, and from where? Is it mere chance you should appear as the Dark Lord plots against us? The Wanderer speaks truly, for a great host of Wyrms was seen over Minas Tirith at the end of spring. High they flew, spouting fire, heading east. Speak, Lunea, and answer my questions, or I will slay you before all . . ."

Arwen drew the Sword of Elendil, which she had carried since the death of Aragorn Elessar. The blade flashed like a bolt from the heavens.

"M'lady Arwen, there is no threat in Lunea. I have known her for many years. I simply could not remember until now." He turned to Lunea. "I side with you on how to handle the situation, Lunea. How about the rest of you?"

"I agree with Syntoc. We cannot fight ourselves while the Dark Lord laughs. I also agree with Lunea's plan." Zindel eyed the group, waiting on further responses.

Lunea's cold eyes looked at Arwen.

"I see that the king's death has led you to foolishness, Queen Arwen." Lunea dismissed Arwen with a gesture, and the sword turned so cold it could not be held. It fell to the ground, and another Elf picked it up.

"Do not be a fool, Arwen. Have you gone mad to call a Mage a witch?" said the Elf. The Elf looked up; his eyes were gold and he had a red diamond on his forehead. He handed the now warm sword back to Arwen.

"You all may know me by another name, but I wish to be called Silvermoon. Do not blame Lunea for the blade. I did that, for she is my elder in power, though not by age."

"Thank you, Silvermoon," Lunea said smiling. "You shouldn't have . . ."

"Yes. I should have. I am an Elf, and she knows that. Anyone can see that and feel it. She would not believe you, so I had to say something."

Lunea turned to Arwen. "You ask where I am from, originally. Then I shall tell you. I am from a place called 'Earth.' Is it mere chance I came when the Dark One did? No. I fight him. When he left Middle Earth, I followed him. I didn't see you do such things, Arwen. I can go between worlds just as any other Mage can. Sauron my master?" Lunea laughed bitterly. "I won't tell you what he tried to do when I was not at full power, nor what his apprentice did. It would break your mind. Does that please you now, fair lady? And what of you, Lady Eowyn? Your husband does not rise to fight me, though you do. What say you now?"

Silvermoon walked over to Lunea and placed a hand on her shoulders.

"Tis sad that one so fair as Arwen has lost what all found dear in her," said Silvermoon.

Arwen shot Syntoc a look of pure contempt. "Do not touch me again, Wizard, or I fear it will not go well for you." Arwen breathed and sheathed the Sword of Elendil.

"Truly, you spoke, the king's death left me with much bitterness. It is all that I have left, and I will wield it as my final weapon. Hold, Wizard, we have not heard from Bain Elfriend, or the Hobbit. Let them speak! The plans we make are not yours alone to speak." Arwen's eyes flashed. She turned to Lunea.

"You speak as a friend, and as an enemy of Sauron and Intathin. Time will tell if you are either, or neither. I move that the stone taken from the Eagles be taken back again, and the other two moved to where his lidless eye cannot see. If we move in a great mass, we lay ourselves bare to see the greatest of us taken in one fell swoop. Several quests must begin, not the least of which the regaining of the Gem. Now, let us hear from the others before we rush off in haste!"

Marigold rose to answer Lady Evenstar's call. She bowed before all assembled, her legs shaking and her heart pounding. Suddenly she knew she could never return to her life, to washing vegetables and serving pints of ale and enduring all the petty jealousies and the daily monotony of life in the Shire. Now it seemed all about to change anyhow.

"I am Marigold Took, of the Shire. I was recently reminded that Hobbits do seem rather good at burgling, so I offer my services. Marigold Took, burglar, at your service. I used to nick potatoes from old Lobelia's garden, and sometimes cabbages and berries from old Farmer Ludo's place, and, well, I've never stolen anything valuable from a Dark Lord before, but I reckon if my Uncle Pippin and Frodo and Bilbo can do all they did, well, I expect I can have a go at it too. I'm no Baggins, mind you, and I've no courage as I'm aware of, but I'll try my best; I am a descendant of the Bullroarer, he was grand enough in his own way . . ."

Marigold stopped, for she had quite run out of breath.

"It was asked whether there were any strange doings in the Shire. There was, very strange you might say. At the beginning of spring, a Man came to the Shire, strange enough in itself, we don't get many Men, you see. Well, this fellow, he walked the length and breadth of the Four Farthings, strange he was, all cloaked and hooded and it was warm as could be, and would speak to none, or answer, and he cast no shadow. It was queer, and we were all mighty relieved when he had gone. Several of the sherriffs tried to follow him, but he left no trail."

Bain was brought to his feet by the Hobbit's words. "Aye! The same Man was seen by the Men of Dale; as we passed through some days ago, the tale was told us. In Erebor, it seems that all goes awry, and hands falter at their craft, and all things that are done are ill done. Only this afternoon, I was beset by a nightmare, here, in this place removed from evil, a nightmare that fire raged beneath the Lonely Mountain. The Men of Dale also reported this, dreams and omens. And it was seen, from Erebor, a great host of Orcs marching eastward, so many their numbers were beyond measure, and also the great Wyrms that the Wanderer spoke of have been seen by ourselves, and our kinsmen in the Far North. The Men of Dale also spoke of the Winged Terror, the Nazgul, seen on the horizon in flight."

Lunea sat down, and Silvermon changed places to sit next to her. Both of their faces were pale.

"This does not bode well," said Silvermoon.

"Hardly. Look everyone. I believe that Arwen is correct. To go in one large group with both of the pieces would be unwise. However, to split would mean our powers would be weakened." Lunea sat in silence for several seconds.

"To go in two groups would be wiser," said Silvermoon.

"Then we will have to make them equal in power. What say you, Syntoc? You have studied the Anachrons for some time, and you shall be the mover of this fight. But wait! Has everyone spoke? Are there no more questions to ask anyone here?" Lunea looked at Vlad. "What about you, Vlad? Your story . . ."

Vlad tensed.

__

:Boss, it's ok.:

:Yeah?:

Vlad stood and looked at everyone. "Um . . . well, there's not much I can say since Lunea talked about the Orb already. My name's Vladimir Taltos. I'm one of the citizens in the Empire, to the House of Jhereg. I used to work for . . . him." Vlad pointed at Morrolan. Morrolan raised an eyebrow. "Well, I also worked for the Jhereg, and they got mad, and I went away." Vlad shrugged. "I was taking someone back to their home, when I felt . . ." Vlad stopped for a moment, his vision blurring. He clutched the table. "I felt . . . like I was being hit in the back by fire . . . and . . . then . . ."

__

:Boss!:

Silvermoon caught Vlad as he hit the table.

"Three Fellowships," Arwen interjected. "Two, to hide the two thirds within our grasp, one, to retake the one now in the Dark Lord's possession."

"Agreed," said Edric. "Little has been said of the third part of the Great Anachron, the White Stone of Galadriel, the Gem, which contained in a Phial, lit the way for the Ringbearers. This is the Gem of dominion, of light, and peace, and if the will of the Dark Lord works through it, it will work great evil indeed. For this we must strive: not to see what came from the fairest of us all used to bring the darkness upon us all. The Dark Lord would like nothing better than this irony to befall this realm. The Great Anachron must be brought together, and hidden or destroyed, forever out of his reach, and ours. Of the Lesser Anachron, I cannot speak."

"Then three parties it will be." Syntoc began to gesture three groups. "This is only a suggestion, but hear me out. Legolas, Lunea, Ayala, Vlad, Draco, and myself will leave first to get the third stone. The two other parties may split as they please. Make sure Edric is in the second party, though, along with Zindel. This keeps the Wizards up front. The third party should be led by Bain Warhammer. What do you think?"

***

Doireann buzzed back into the valley, flying straight as an arrow for the House of Elrond, and in through the open window. She settled herself on Marigold's shoulder, fluttering her wings to dry them; it had been raining outside Rivendell, and she hadn't stopped since leaving the Shire. She rested, listening. The air was filled with heavy tension.

***

Deagol thrashed and writhed, and sank his fangs into the one they had called Emer. He skittered off between legs and under tables and ran outside again.

"We knowss where it is! THIEVES! We knows where all of it is!" Deagol clambered up a tree, and clung there.

Legolas streaked out of the hall after the creature and leapt up the tree after it.

"I will surely kill you if you do not come down now," he said to it in an even tone. It hissed at him. Gaining his balance, he drew an arrow from his quiver. Steadily, he nocked the arrow and aimed.

"No!" screeched Deagol. "Nasty Elf! Wicked Elf! Deagol will come!"

Legolas slid down, never taking his eyes off Deagol. Deagol began to climb contritely down until he saw another Elf hand Legolas a coil of silvery rope. Then it froze in place, its lamp-like eyes staring with malice. Legolas drew another arrow.

"Legolas!" cried Ayala, racing after him. "Wait! Do not hurt him yet! Let us hear what the Council has to say of him. If he is at all like Gollum, then our rope shall hurt him." Ayala put her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his back. "I know what you're feeling . . ."

Legolas took the arrow from his bow and placed it slowly back into the quiver, never taking his eyes from Deagol.

"Come down. I will not harm you. Lady Ayala speaks gently, and it is her words that have spared you this day." Several Elves had their arrows trained on Deagol as he descended. 

Legolas turned to Ayala for a brief moment, taking her face in his hands as he kissed her tenderly. "You are kind, beloved, but also wise. Deagol knows where the stone has been taken. His lust for it could prove useful. He will have to be taken as a guide, foul as he is. I thank you, for staying my hand. So much like Smeagol of old, he seems. If he has information on the doings in Mordor, I suppose he is worth a listen."

Deagol now quivered on the grass. As a show of good faith, Legolas coiled the rope and attached it to his belt once more.

"Do not make me take this out again," he threatened, and the creature cowered away from his gaze. "Go, in front of us, toward the hall. Make no attempt to run, or you will have no mercy again." Legolas held Ayala's hand as they returned to the Council, driving Deagol before them.

Deagol slunk along before them whimpering. "Wicked Elves, cruel Elves, you hurts us with your bright eyes, and you'll kill us in our sleep, you will. Deagol won't help you, thieves, murderers."

He was forced into the hall, and the scent of many Elves and other fearful peoples filled his nostrils.

"No!" he cried. "We won't go in, we can't. Deagol smells Dwarves, and Dwarveses don't like us. The light is to bright, it hurts uss . . ."

He was picked up by the Elf with the bow, and screamed as the touch burned his skin like the fingers of flames.

Lunea looked at Deagol. "Morrolan? Are you willing to do something for me?"

"Perhaps . . ." he said.

"Will you unsheath your blade and make that creature be quiet. I think he will find the dark much worse than the light."

Morrolan stood and unsheathed Blackwand. The presence of the blade hung in the air like a thing wanting blood. Morrolan went to Deagol, who stood in utter shock.

"If you move, then you will not only die, but your soul shall be destroyed," said Lunea.

Ayala, too, stood like a statue. "How is it I could not feel such an evil presence before?"

"Because Silvermoon and I shielded it. Even now it is not at its greatest." Lunea walked to Morrolan and put a hand on his arm. "A blade made to stop wars. It did work, but only the people who made the blades stopped. The owner of a Great Weapon decides what shall be done with the soul, I think." She turned to the others. "I believe three parties will work. However, one other should come with us to the Dark Lands . . . Marigold. She will represent the Hobbits. I must go, however, no matter what the Council decides. I will see the Dark One again before his end." Lunea's jaw tightened as she spoke.

Ayala looked to Legolas and took his hand. "Why can we never be all together except in times of war? It seems like a harsh fate . . ."

Silvermoon helped Vlad to sit.

"What is wrong?"

"My head is pounding . . . like a Dwarf hitting me with a hammer . . . I see an eye . . . a red eye . . ." Rocza licked Vlad's ear. Loiosh, however, was lying on Vlad's shoulder, his eyes closed.

__

:Sorry,: Vlad managed to send.

__

:It's ok, boss. You would've passed out completely if I didn't take some of it from you.:

:Thanks.:

Silvermoon put his hand to Vlad's forehead. Slowly, the pain in Vlad's head lessened.

"I fear for you, Vlad. this trip may not be wise for you to undertake."

"Yeah? Maybe, but I have a score to settle with this guy. My head still hurts . . ."

"I know. I cannot help you completely."

"Even more reason to go after this ba . . . Dark Lord."

"Then there is nothing more to say."

"No problem. I'll kill him for you."

Silvermoon smiled. "Thank you . . . I only wish . . . hope you can."

The debate had quieted, people were now talking over the details amongst themselves, murmuring agreement. Draco spoke in Marigold's ear, careful not to bump the Dragonfly from her shoulder.

"Well, another famous burglar from the Shire is born," he teased, smiling. She smiled back weakly, her face filled with fear.

Draco wasn't quite sure when it had happened, how he had come to care for her so much in so short a time, he only knew that he didn't want to be separated from her now, and that he would stay by her side and protect her as best he could. He glanced around at all the varied faces around the table, some noble and wise, others pensive. He felt no more than Marigold that he fit in with such a splendid company. Perhaps it wasn't necessary to, helping one another survive would overcome the boundaries of race, in that respect they were all one people, standing against evil.

Draco felt a chill dance up his spine as he looked at Deagol, and something else. "He knows something, something valuable," whispered Draco.


	10. Messages The Dark Lord Speaks

****

Chapter Ten

Messages. The Dark Lord Speaks.

He looked at the invitation in his hand, turned it over, and threw it in the fireplace. 

How amusing, he thought. Such foolish pawns.

He stood up, and stretched. He had become a Vampire, to save his friend. He was also a Mage, the most powerful one, the Mage of Silence. Yet his appearance still showed that he was once an Elf. His long, golden hair reached his ankles now. His eyes, once blue, had turned silver. A black diamond was on his forehead. One could see he was thin, though his robes flowed like black water.

He hardly concentrated, and he was in Intathin's keep. The creatures of darkness recoiled at his approach and he cast no shadow. He strolled to Intathin with little fear.

"Greetings," the Elf said, his voice vibrating in a strange way, almost like an echo. "You wished to see me. I am now here. I shall hear your words, though I may do nothing."

Kazushe waited for the Dark One's reply. 

***

Emer had left the Council after the creature had bitten her hand, stumbling down the polished halls, she had sunk to the floor, her back against the wall. 

Now she did not know where she was. Her eyes clenched closed, sweat broke out anew on her brow. The abyss called, her hand throbbed and ached. She could not avail her own powers of healing, and she cried out in frustration.

Fever took her mind, and a sudden clarity filled her. Words of a conversation never meant to be overheard came to her.

_"I shall hear your words, though I may do nothing . . ."_

***

"Kazushe," came the rumbling reply. The sound of the voice was everywhere, and nowhere. If the one who listened was wise, he would know that which he gazed upon was only a presentment, for Intathin would not reveal his true being-yet.

"You may treat me with respect, or I will not treat with you at all. Your will is already mine, or you would not be here now." Intathin toyed with him for a moment, just as it was not uncommon for a cat to play with a mouse before killing it. From the depths he spoke, far beneath Minas Morgul, a rumbling of stone upon stone, a whisper from ages past. His true self near the mightiest of all demons, the Balrog, his mind attuned to the ebb and flow of thought from leagues distant, and near, all too near . . . 

"My servant. An errand I have for you. When the fellowships depart and Rivendell has lost its heart, burn it. Let it be laid waste, that no leaf or blade or crawling insect call it home again. This do, and I will reward you. If not, another I will find."

Intathin sent the emanation of his will forward, spiraling into the consciousness of the other. 

Another of his servants was listening. Into her subconscious he planted commands, echoes of dreams, fragments dark, buried deep. His will would be thought her own.

As it should be, until the day when all laid their fealty at his feet. 

Kazushe blocked against the Dark One's power.

"Continue to dream, Dark One. I am far older than even you, and you cannot control me yet. Remember that, Intathin. I am neither for light or dark. Do watch your back...if you will not change."

Kazushe turned away from the Dark One and teleported away, his laughter echoing through the halls. When he was in his own room, he sat down in his chair and leaned his head back. Words from his father rang in his ears, "Remember, Kazushe. You are neither for light or dark. Only when one or the other has reached to destroy a world should you interfere. You are the Mage of Silence, Kazushe, and the power to destroy runs through you, but it's a bit different in you. People will try to control you because of this...because they don't understand. Be careful, Kazushe. You will eventually understand what I say. I'm afraid it shall always seem a lonely job to you . . ."

"Fools," whispered Kazushe. "Still they do not understand . . ."


	11. The Council Continues

****

Chapter Eleven

The Council Continues

Legolas was silent as the others spoke, debating details. He beckoned to the Dragonfly on the Hobbit's shoulder, and it flitted over to land on his forearm. He began to sing.

__

Today I saw the Dragonfly

Come from the wells where he did lie

An inner impulse rent the veil

Of his old husk, from head to tail

Came out clear plates of sapphire mail

He dried his wings, like gauze they grew

Through crofts and pastures wet with dew

A living flash of light he flew...

The Dragonfly's large wings buzzed with pleasure at the song, and Legolas admired the panes of color in them, taking care not to touch them.

The room had gone silent while he sung. He raised up his forearm a bit.

"Here is one of a race nearly decimated by Sauron, an old and magical race. A living symbol of why we must persevere." A profound sadness came over the Elf's face that their world was once again threatened, that all that had been healed and rebuilt could now soon fall once again to one who cared nothing for beauty or poetry or life, but only power for power's own sake. Legolas lowered his eyes, hiding the grief he felt, and the fear at who among this company would be lost along the way. Deagol still cowered, shrinking against a chair leg, but silent.

What of Emer, whom he had bitten? She was nowhere in the hall. He went out to look for her, finding her in a heap on the floor in a hallway, fevered and incoherent.

"Sister, can you hear me?" There was no answer from her. Legolas brought a cool cloth to bathe her forehead, and a draught of Elven mead. She took some, but still did not speak, her face colorless. Several other Elves gathered round.

"Ayala, will you fetch Edric to me?" Legolas asked.

Edric was already coming down the hall before they could summon him, for Edric was a healer, that was his craft, and he came swiftly when he knew someone was in need of his services. The others formed a tight circle around him as he knelt before the stricken Elf.

Laying his hand on her damp forehead, he began to chant. There was a deep music in his voice. He sent his own spirit out after Emer's which was lost and stumbling between the planes of life and darkness. The spirit-Emer turned to flee, seeing him following.

He stretched out his hand. "Now is not your time." Leading her back to the land of the living, Edric said the spell that would void the poison from the bite of Deagol.

When Emer's eyes opened weakly, he offered her again the drink Legolas had brought. She took it, closing her eyes again, her head lolling against the wall.

"She needs rest now," Edric said, and the Elves carried her away.

"She was touched by more than venom, the Dark Hand was laid upon her," said Edric to Legolas. "When her strength returns we will ask her what she saw."

Emer was taken to a dark, quiet room, and placed upon a soft bed. Beyond the window the tree limbs swayed in the gathering darkness. She must get up and tell them where she had seen Deagol before, and what she had heard. Sleep claimed her before she could think another thought. 

~*~

Arwen smiled for the first time since arriving in Rivendell upon hearing the song of Legolas. When he left to tend to Emer, she put another question before the Council.

"Before we assume our individual quests, it must be decided where the stones will be taken and hidden, until they can be brought together again. Before we suggest such places, this foul creature must be taken where he cannot overhear." Arwen gestured to Deagol.

Lunea looked at the others and sighed.

"We are delaying here . . . but I guess there isn't much of a choice," she whispered. "How are you feeling, Vlad?" she asked outloud.

"Great."

"Don't be sarcastic. Honestly."

"My head doesn't pound like Dwarves are hammering on it...now it only feels like an Elf is hitting me . . . lightly."

"Oh, you are funny."

"I know, but I'm not laughing."

"It's going to get worse, I think, the closer you get to Mordor."

"I didn't think I'd get lucky. Oh, well."

"You're still going?"

"Yes. I'm not too happy being made a pawn."

"You may still be." 

Vlad did not reply instantly to Lunea's last comment.

"What about you?" he finally asked. "Are you a pawn?"

"I may be. Everyone might be just pawns. I certainly don't think this last meeting with the Dark Lord will be a cakewalk for me."

"What happened before?"

"None of your business."

"Oh." 

"Hey! Are we going to make some plans now or shall we rest?" called Lunea to Syntoc. 

Syntoc turned to Lunea. "I think our group should make plans now, and head out tomorrow morning. We must make haste. The other groups should leave in three-day increments. What do you think?" 

"It sounds like a plan . . . if we can get everyone to sit and listen for several seconds," said Lunea with a wry smile. 

"I would like the honor of hiding the Arkenstone, and I think it should be taken to the far North, Since the Wanderer knows that country better than any other, we shall go with him. Larz, myself, and Faramir and the Lady Eowyn. I believe the Green Silmaril of Mirkwood is best left to Queen Arwen Evenstar to hide. For the taking of the White Gem of Galadriel, the Hobbit, Draco, and Syntoc. I would have Edric with us, this leaves Zindel the Red to accompany Arwen," Bain said.

"I concur. I know exactly where to take it. I will have Emer accompany me, and Zindel. Draco I would take but he seems loath to be parted from the Hobbit." Arwen smiled at the young Man's protectiveness of the Halfling.

"Bain, there has been much enmity between our peoples in the past. Let us end it this day. I name you Bain Elfriend, and give to you this as a token of a newly sealed friendship that should never have gone awry." She lifted a small charm on a chain from around her neck, an emblem of the White Tree in silver, and placed it in Bain's hand.

"And may you return safely to your kingdom under the Mountain when your errand is done."

Graybough and Fimbrethil took great delight in the woods of Rivendell, and the crystalline water full of nourishment. This was as fine a place as any Ent could dream of.

They stood together now side by side outside the great hall, listening to the council and talking to each other about the tidings with great hooming and homing.

Graybough poked his head into the highest window of the hall.

"We will accompany Lady Evenstar," he announced. 

"Then we shall leave on the morrow. Let us rest. Tomorrow myself, Lunea, Draco, Marigold, and any others that wish to accompany us will head out." Syntoc turned to his party. "We have an important duty. Let us rest well tonight, for it is the best rest we will get for some time." Syntoc headed off towards his bedchamber for the night.

Arwen caught up to Syntoc before he reached his bedchamber.

"Wizard. I would make my peace with you, before we all depart on the morrow. I will not return living from this quest. I spoke to you in anger and bitterness, I fear this all I have left. I would have you remember me with fondness and not anger." She touched his brow.

"Remember Gondor in days of splendor, when all was well-ordered and Aragorn Elessar brought peace. Perhaps those days will come again. I am sorry you have seen me in so poor a light. I used to be filled with light, now I am a vessel of shadows, and memories. Forgive me."

She turned on her heel, and went to the room where Emer still slept. "Survive, young one," she whispered to the Elf whose face was like the newly risen moon in the darkness.

Arwen stole out of her father's house to the gardens, there to commune one last time with memories of brighter days when life seemed eternal and the night did not draw in upon her.


	12. Fellowships and Lifebonds

Chapter Twelve

Fellowships and Lifebonds

Marigold hoped the terror she felt didn't show on her face. All the courage that had driven her to jump into the adventure seemed to have evaporated. She should be on her way home to Hobbiton.

Deep down she knew even if she did go home tomorrow, nothing would ever be the same anymore.

War would reach out its ugly hand to the Shire as it would to all corners of Middle Earth, it was better to take a stand than sit by and hope for the best. Her ancestors hadn't done that, and it had all turned out well for them. And the idea of never seeing Draco again was even worse than the thought of war. She lowered her eyes as people bid each other good night. The room was filled with beautiful women, he would never return the feelings that had come so swiftly and unbidden.

She would keep them to herself and press on with the quest and be the best burglar she could be.

He still held her hand. When he looked at her, he probably saw a child, some half-grown thing, and now he would be the Wizard's pupil, and a great path of destiny and fame would open out before him, and she would lose him; he would go out of her life, go where she could not follow. She let go of his hand gently.

The table was still heaped with food, and she turned to it for comfort. It might be a good while, if ever, before a decent meal was available again.

Lunea watched as Marigold sat down with a heavy heart.

"What's wrong, Mari? You seem sad about something. It's not good to go out on a mission with a heavy heart. Tell me what's wrong. Maybe I can help." Lunea smiled and cocked her head sideways. "We can go talk about it privately, if you want. Men can be very insensitive about a woman's needs. Trust me."

"I'm afraid," Marigold answered, blinking back the tears that wouldn't go away. "Afraid of the road ahead, afraid of the way I feel, about him. I never expected to feel this way." She wiped away the tears with the back of her sleeve, staring at her feet again.

"Ah . . . that. I see," said Lunea. "I can understand both. It is always frightening to think what may be ahead, Marigold. The greatest fear of all creatures is facing an unknown future with enemies unclear. I'm afraid too, afraid for all who are beautiful at heart. But you should not be afraid of the feelings towards . . . him. Love is not to be feared, but it is confusing. Yet perhaps if you try talking to him, then you shall not be confused. Though you may feel that such a thing is impossible, you are wrong. You are a young woman, in your full beauty, physically and mentally, and many can see that . . . and so can he. In fact, here he is . . ." Lunea stopped as Draco approached, watching Marigold, and then led her away, completely ignoring Lunea. "Little children in love . . . go enjoy this night . . ."

~*~

Ayala watched as people went to their rooms. She looked at Legolas.

"Tomorrow we shall leave once more on an adventure. At least we shall be together . . ."

Legolas drew Ayala to a darkened corner of the hall.

"We have one last night here in this place sacred to our people, tomorrow everything will change . . . beloved Ayala, stay with me tonight," he whispered, pulling her close. A breeze swept in though the open windows, perfuming the room with the scent of pine and damp earth, the finest incense of all to their kind. Before she could answer he kissed her, and all the love he felt for her was in that kiss, taking his breath away. His heart hammered wildly, and he would not let her go.

Ayala returned the kiss, and shivered with the emotions she felt. "I will stay with you tonight . . . and forever . . ." she whispered into his ear, slipping into the Elven tongue. She leaned on his shoulder, closer to him, and relaxed in his arms. She played with his hair, then braided a thin strand.

Legolas didn't remember how they got out of the hall, or going to his tiny room under the eaves, he only knew the feel of her silken hair in his hands, and that was all he wanted to know. Nightbirds sang sweetly in the trees outside their window, and the moon passed over, slanting in to cover them in silver.

If Legolas could freeze time, he would do so now, somehow knowing how precious this time was made their loving all the more urgent. Ayala was more passionate than he had imagined, sweeter, softer, and more beautiful than in his many dreams of her.

All that he could ever want lay in his arms, and he loved her until the first blush of dawn lit the sky.

~*~

Silvermoon helped Vlad to stand.

"It is time you went to bed and rested. Perhaps your head will not hurt quite as much with good rest," said the Mage.

"Maybe. Or it might get worse tonight. Well, I guess it won't help to dwell on it. I'd better go to sleep."

"Goodnight."

"Thanks. Goodnight."

~*~

Geharion perched on the topmost eave of the Last Homely House. The best way he could serve the three parties was to fly between them all and give news of the others, and scout out the roads ahead for potential threats. Going with one group would tie him to the land, this was a living death to one who lived in the updrafts and the sea of currents called the wind. Eyes that saw far soon became blinded when grounded.

Geharion slept uneasily, his head tucked under his wing.

~*~

Marigold was happy, thinking again of the words Lunea had said to her, and listening to Draco. Soon she could see him in her mind's eye a small, serious, gray-eyed boy, questioning everything, and she could see the city of Minas Tirith with its seven tiers, and the banner of the white tree with stars above it, and the King, and splendid guards in armor and horns sounding and bells ringing.

And she could see the scar that had been left on him by his parent's absence, and that he had felt far more loss than he would ever admit.

"I hope we'll come to your city, so I can see it for myself," remarked Marigold, trailing a finger absently over the surface of the water at the base of the fountain. She looked up to see him smiling at her and felt a blush creeping across her cheeks. She looked away, smiling too.

"Tell me about the Shire," he asked.

So she described to him what it had been like on Master Samwise's last birthday celebration, an outdoor affair, tables groaning, overflowing with food, children underfoot, insects droning in the trees, the sun not too hot, but just right on her back, and all about old Farmer Ludo who'd had too much mead and fell from the back of his pony into the Brandywine and had to be dragged out and taken home in a cart like a sack of taters.

Soon they were both laughing. "It sounds like a great place," he said.

"It is."

"I hope we can go there after this is all over."

"Me, too." Lunea's words rolled through her mind again. _Love isn't something to fear_. She looked up at him again.

"You're very kind, Draco. And I think you've been very lonely, and I hope you will never be lonely again." There was more she wanted to say, but she didn't. She only looked away sadly again.

"I don't think I will, anymore," he said. "As long as you're close by." He bent to kiss her.

She was trembling.

"Are you afraid?" he asked. She nodded but didn't speak. He ran his hand through her curly hair.

"I'll never hurt you, Mari. You can count on that." He put his arm around her and smoothed her hair. "I'll do my best, to protect you, and help you." He held her, and after a while she stopped shaking.

"Come on, let's go exploring. It's bright enough to see nearly everything." He took her hand and they wandered off.

~*~

A little away, Lunea looked around and laughed. "Morrolan, I'm drowning in honey. These life-bonds are killing me," she said.

Morrolan sat down next to her, a smile on his face. "You still look rather alive to me."

"You know what I mean . . ."

"Yes." His expression changed to a frown. "You are leaving tomorrow with Vlad and Ayala. I do not believe I shall come with you."

"Hmm . . . What shall you do, then?"

"I shall accompany one of the other parties. To bring Blackwand towards this danger somehow does not seem wise."

"Oh. Good point. Hadn't thought of that. Which party, though?"

"Whichever shall accept me."  
Bain crossed the room swiftly. "Lord Morrolan. I had hoped you would come with my Fellowship, to the North. I cannot promise you less danger, little is known about those lands. There be Dragons there, and you seem the sort of man who could face them without fear, and a strong heart would be an asset to our party." Bain bowed low, his beard scraping the floor.

Morrolan studied Bain for several seconds. "I shall accompany you gladly. I am not afraid to face danger."

Silvermoon smiled and said, "A Dragon looks for danger."

Morrolan did not reply, but smiled as well.

"If it is so, I shall see if I may accompany the Lady Arwen," said Silvermoon at last. "The two remaining Fellowships do not have much time to decide upon their course."

~*~

Marigold and Draco had found a small stream not far from the garden, a silver ribbon that wound its way through the land. They had talked late into the night, lying on the bank with their hands clasped behind their heads.

Marigold wasn't sure when she fallen asleep. She woke to find herself snuggled against Drago. She listened to his deep, even breathing and smiled. The sun would soon be up.

She knew she should wake him, but it was hard to let the moment go, so she snuggled up against him again and closed her eyes.


	13. Morning

Chapter Thirteen

Morning

It had been only a few hours since Syntoc went to sleep, but he awoke the first signs of morning. He went downstairs to the table for an early morning breakfast, and afterwards he began to blow smoke rings from his pipe. _I'll give the others an hour or so before I fetch them. I suppose we need to leave soon though, _Syntoc thought to himself.

He had the strangest feeling that would be the last time he laid eyes upon Rivendell.

"Mornings . . . I hate mornings the more I am required to wake up when they start," said Lunea. She put her head on the table. "We need to leave soon," she said, echoing Syntoc's thoughts, her voice muffled. "No point in delaying the inevitable . . ."

Several seconds later, Vlad joined them.

"My headache went away," he said. He ate mechanically, then took out a dagger and began to flip it. Loiosh and Rocza jumped onto the table to eat the leftovers.

Syntoc finished with his smoke rings and decided it was time to get the others. "Lunea, would you please go and fetch Ayala and Legolas? See if they are coming with us. If they are, let them know that we are taking the same route as Mr. Frodo. I am going to talk to Draco and Marigold."

~*~

Deagol quivered on the floor in a ball of misery. There were streams nearby, streams full of lovely cool fish, and Deagol was very hungry, and the Elves stood around him in a circle with their terrible eyes on him and their cruel arrows waiting to be drawn.

"Wicked Elves," he spat. "Deagol is hungry, starving, if you will not let us go, give us something to eat."

~*~

"Mari, wake up," said Draco softly. He was extremely comfortable and it was very hard to move. The grass was soft and springy, and the temperature just right. The sense of freedom he'd felt traveling through Gondor returned in a rush.

He kissed Mari's forehead. Her eyes fluttered open.

"I was awake, I must have fallen asleep again." She yawned and sat up, looking around. "It's even prettier here in the morning," she said.

"Yeah," he echoed, looking only at her. She saw what he meant on his face, and her cheeks turned pink.

"Come on," he said, rising, picking up her cloak and placing it around her shoulders.

When they returned to the hall, it looked very different than it had last night. Or maybe it was they who were different. Packs were being made ready on the tables, provisions being doled out and stowed. Mari and Draco went wordlessly to the table where their packs lay, filling them with generous provisions of the Elves: lembas, water, rope, break and hard cheese, fishing gear, and myriad of other supplies. Draco and Marigold busied themselves stuffing their packs. Neither one of them spoke.

Syntoc went over the two. "Marigold, breakfast is on the table. Draco, you are to eat only bread and water. You need to fast and think of why a Wizard's power comes from his inner thoughts, not food nourishment."

Marigold tied her pack closed. "There, that's all that will fit, we'll just give it a try." She swung it onto her back and promptly fell backwards with a resounding thud, landing on top of it.

"Oh, dear. Draco, help!" Marigold laughed as Draco pulled her to her feet.

"What have you got in there?" he asked, eyes wide.

"Cooking gear," she answered. She began to sway a little under the weight. "I'll get used to it. I daresay the pony won't be pleased at carrying us both."

"You'll be riding with me. The pony is too slow. Father has given us one of the horses they brought from Rohan."

Marigold struggled out of the pack. She spied a large pitcher of the Elven drink they'd had the night before. She poured them each a large gobletful.

"If you have to fast, I'll join you, it will lighten the load somewhat." She patted her stomach. Deagol was still whimpering where they'd left him last night, surrounded by Elves. Mari took some cheese and bread over to him and laid it close enough for him to grab, then she scuttled away.

This was the same sort of creature that had tried to kill Mister Frodo.

~*~

Arwen swept into the hall to find Zindel already waiting. She nodded courteously to him and approached Bain.

"King Under the Mountain, I wish you and your fellowship luck. If ever your need is great, avail yourself of the talisman I gave you, for there is great magic in it, magic that will turn back the dark and its kind." Arwen knew when the time came, he would remember her words. She could see the chain around his neck, the pendant hidden under his coat of mail.

"May you hide the Arkenstone well." Arwen turned away to find the rest of her fellowship. Emer and the two Ents would come with her to where she would hide the Green Silmaril of Mirkwood. Arwen felt that Ayala Proudbow should also be with them, but Arwen knew only too well that Ayala would not leave the side of her lover now. If Arwen were in Ayala's place she would not do so either. If there were any others who wished to come, Arwen would accept their requests now.

Silvermoon walked up to the Lady Arwen and bowed low. "My lady. I wish to travel with you." He looked up and locked her eyes to his own. "There is much pain in you, Arwen, and Mages can sense it. We wish to heal you, though you will deny our healing, no doubt? To die in battle is not as noble as to live."

Arwen bowed in return. "You are welcome with us. I will reveal our destination once we have departed Rivendell." Arwen paused. "Your kindness means much to me, Silvermoon; it is a true gift you offer, a gift from the heart, a gift of healing. I made my choice long ago, now I must live with it, and die with it."

Arwen's eyes traveled to the lush green just beyond the window, and a deep longing filled her, a longing to both stay and be away from this place. Her father's face floated ephemerally before her, and tears stung her eyes. She returned to the business of preparing. They would leave within the hour.

~*~

Lunea paused in the middle of a sip.

_:Hey, Elfing,:_ she called through her mind to Ayala.

_:Hmmm?:_ came the reply.

:I hate to do this to you and your lover, but you really must wake up. We'll be leaving soon and if you plan on coming . . .:

_:Hm.:_

_:Good.:_ Lunea broke the connection and continued to drink her Elven brew.

~*~

Ayala watched as some birds flew overhead.

"I guess . . . we must go join the others, "said Ayala. "A part of me wishes not to go, to just enjoy being here with you. I know that if we do not try to stop the Dark Lord, then all will suffer." Ayala sighed and played with Legolas' hair again. "Well, at least we shall go together. Come now. It is time we decided whether or not we go to Mordor or change our path."

Legolas cradled Ayala against him, savoring the feel of her hands in his hair.

"Ayala, I would not be parted from you ever again; I would not bring you into danger, either, and risk losing you. I know in my heart I must go to Mordor, it seems my path has already been laid out for me. But now that the day has come, and we have touched, I will do nothing to risk your safety, your happiness, for they mean more to me than my own life. So I must ask now, are you quite sure you wish to join me on this quest? I seek your protection as much as the fulfillment of this quest now, understand my words, beloved."

He kissed her lips with all the love he felt for her at this moment.

"I know that you wish me to stay out of harm's way, but no matter where, the evil shall still be a danger," she smiled. "I shall not be at rest if you leave. Ever. If you were injured, I could not bear it . . ." Ayala's eyes filled with tears, "I would be injured as well, no matter the distance. Our fates are now woven together . . ."

Ayala wiped the tears from her eyes and stood up. "Now, let us go. We shall face the darkness as one." Ayala helped Legolas to stand, then suddenly laughed warmly. "You, dear Legolas, shall never be rid of me again."

"Being rid of you I would never wish, not after waiting so long . . ." He kissed her neck, sighing.

They dressed quickly. Legolas went to the trunk at the foot of his bed. He filled their quivers with arrows.

He drew out a long knife with a red sheath, jeweled in green. "I think the Hobbit will find this easy to manage. She has no weapon. Though I think young Draco would not let anything close enough to hurt her." Legolas smiled at the remembrance of the way Draco and Marigold looked at each other.

"This knife once belonged to Elrond. I have kept it all these years, unsure what was to be done with it. It felt wrong here. Perhaps I should have given it to Arwen long ago. Arwen has lost much." Legolas' jaw grew taut at the thought of walking in Arwen's shoes, of being wedded to Ayala for many decades in happiness, and then losing her. It was unbearable to think of.

They stole a last kiss before going downstairs to face the day. Legolas presented the knife to Marigold, who squealed with pleasure and gingerly attached it to her belt. "You look a proper shieldmaiden now," he teased, and the Halfling smiled proudly. 

Ayala and Legolas took a small meal together and waited while the others made their goodbyes.

Syntoc stepped back into the main chamber. He looked at his group and said, "We need to go. Say your goodbyes, for there is a possibility that this is the last time you will ever see these people. I will be outside. Joine me when you are ready." Syntoc made his way to the exit, without telling anyone goodbye.

"It's a fine sword, Marigold," said Draco, touching the jeweled scabbard. "Legolas said it was once Elrond's. It's bound to bring you luck. We can practice on the way, so you'll know how to use it if we're ever separated." He saw his parents beckoning from the doorway, and went to tell them goodbye. They were going back to Gondor; since Arwen was going on a quest herself, their leadership would be needed and Minas Tirith would have to be fortified in case of attack.

Draco shook his father's hand, and hugged his mother. He felt her shoulders shaking.

"I love you both. I'll see you soon," he said with a confidence he didn't feel. He turned his back and went inside before they saw the true emotions in his eyes. The others were waiting in the main hall. Deagol looked far more manageable now that he'd eaten, but Draco was not happy aobut having him along. Still, his inner sense told him Deagol had information that would prove extremely valuable in the weeks to come. Draco shook Bain's hand, and knelt before Arwen, whose eyes seemed overbright. "Fare thee well, my Queen," he said, still kneeling, until she touched his hair and freed him from the show of fealty.

They departed then, making their way round the back of the Last Homely House and to the stables where the horses were waiting, strong horses of Rohan. Placing Marigold in front of him in the saddle, their packs bound to each side, they were off.

Draco looked back wistfully at the valley of Rivendell; if ever he returned here, he would be a different man than the one who had come here only a day ago. If he lived.


	14. The Beginning of the EndThe Companies De

****

Chapter Fourteen  
The Beginning of the End. The Companies Depart.

Emer came downstairs, a feeling of unreality filling her. Her face was white and she was silent as she stowed her gear. She looked over at Deagol, happily munching on a piece of hard bread.  


She longed to take the dagger from her boot and stab him until he begged for mercy.  


Someone spoke next to her. "Burn it all."  


She spun around. No one was there.  


~*~

  
Edric and Morrolan had been up in the library all night, studying maps and old runes. Theirs would be a rough journey through wild country, fraught with dangers unknown. Edric watched Emer, standing still as a stone near the table. Gently he laid a hand on her shoulder. She jumped as though burned.  


"Though he has laid his hand upon you, it is still not too late to turn away. Tell me what you saw, and what you heard, and let me heal you of the deeper wound before I depart."  


Emer's face grew ashen, her eyes brimming with tears as she faced Edric.  


"There is nothing you can do Edric, he has had his hand on me for many months now. He invades my dreams, he poisons my soul. I should not go on this quest, I will bring danger. I feel a-kinship with Arwen, because of her pain. He told me to burn Rivendell, but I won't, I won't . . ." Emer lurched forward, grateful to close her eyes, for it seemed the Wizard could see inside her, see what she had struggled so hard to overcome, to ignore.  


"If you could turn his gaze from me, I would thank you with my life," she sobbed.  


Silvermoon entered as Emer stopped speaking. He looked from Edric to Emer, then back again.  


"I see there is much healing that needs to be done in this Fellowship . . ."  


"No single man could hope to turn back his gaze alone," was Edric's answer. "Listen to me, Emer. It is very hard for evil to take hold of the unconsenting soul. Somewhere within you lies a weakness, a vulnerability, and he has taken advantage of this. The path to healing lies inward. I cannot do this for you, but I can make it easier for you."  


He placed his hands on the Elf's auburn hair, his thoughts spiraling toward a trance-like state. Sifting through her memories, he found the mark that had been left on her. He could not totally remove it, but dull the edges of it, making it easier for her to overcome. Edric's spirit fell when he saw what the Dark Lord had asked of her.  


He mumbled the words of a spell that would lessen the Dark Lord's grip and strengthen her own resolve to resist him. More than this he could not do. He opened his eyes, smiling gently at her.   


Zindel had heard from Silvermoon about the problem with Emer, he walked to Emer and Edric and said, "I agree with Silvermoon. There is much healing that needs to be done, but we need you in this Fellowship. With that being said we need to head out . . ."  


"He is right, Edric. You must make haste, or Bain will get too far ahead. I thank you from my heart for all that you tried to do, and all that you did do. My heart is greatly lightened, and strengthened. Please, go now, before you fall too far behind."  


~*~

  
"I must speak to Lady Evenstar before we depart," Bain said with sadness to the rest of his group.  


He knelt before Arwen, taking her hand and kissing it. "Lady, I thank you for your mighty gift, but most of all, for your friendship. Word has already gone before me, there will be no more strife between our peoples. An old wound was healed. I only hope that the burden you carry will somehow be lightened before the end, and that I may look upon your beauty again, in times of peace."  


Bain took from his pack a tiny Dragon wrought in silver. He placed it in her slender white hand.  


"This was of Smaug's hoard. As it came from the darkness and into the light of the world of Men, may it symbolize my wish for your happiness, that light will return to you, and follow you and gladden all your days, for one such as you should never know so heavy a sorrow."  


Bain stood, bowed, and returned to his company, his massive hammer swinging at his side. The Fellowship departed. 

Arwen watched after Bain, smiling. The Dwarf was possessed of a deep kindness, and it touched the gray corners of her heart, warming her.  


Arwen strolled outside while Emer still spoke to Edric. Suddenly she felt anxious to be gone. The Green Silmaril felt heavy next to her chest, under the mithril coat she wore.   


~*~

  
Emer strapped her spear to her back, picked up her pack and joined Arwen and the others. Soon they found their horses and began the ascent out of the valley. Emer did not look back.


	15. A Brief Return to the Shire

****

Chapter Fifteen  
A Brief Return to the Shire

  
Doireann buzzed back into the Shire, divebombing two Hobbit children who were playing in the muddy banks of the Brandywine. They gave chase, huffing after her all the way to Hobbiton. When she finally landed on the roof of the Green Dragon they stopped, holding their sides.

"Come down!" they squealed. Doireann's laughter tinkled back at them. 

"I have a message to deliver," she said back.

They looked disappointed, watching her dive into an open window on the upper floor.

Pansy was in the kitchen washing mushrooms. She looked aghast to see Doireann alone. Doireann landed on her shoulder.

It took some time to explain the quest Marigold had gone on, and Doireann had to wait to continue while Pansy alternately shouted or wiped away tears. Doireann hummed patiently when the story had been told. 

Pansy wept until her face was streaked. She grabbed one of the bar towels and washed her face, her shoulders sagging. It felt like her heart had been ripped out and stomped on.

"Marigold, what have you done?" she said to herself. Doireann sat on the back of the chair.

Pansy sat down again across from her, scowling when Digger came in.

"Digger, go out there and serve those roustabouts and keep them quiet." Pansy's eyes were red-rimmed, and Digger knew better than to question her when she got a full head of steam.

"When's Mari coming back?"

"Never, by the looks of it. And you're not to go crowing about that in the pub. I'll tell them in my own good time." Digger shuffled out, closing the door behind him.

"Well, who's this Draco then? Will he look after her? Everyone knows who Syntoc the Green is, even in these parts."

"The White," Doireann corrected. "Draco is the son of Faramir and Eowyn of Minas Tirith."  
Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Fine breeding doesn't necessarily mean good character. Will he protect her?"

"I wouldn't worry. I think he would lay down his life for her. He's in love with her, you see."

Pansy began to cry all over again. Her beautiful, daughter, gone on a quest, her heart stolen by a Man, no less.

"Is he very tall?" Pansy asked. 

"Yes."

"They must look a pair." Pansy smiled through her tears. All parents must one day let their children go out into the world, she hadn't expected it to be this wrenching, so many milestones all at once. And Mordor wasn't exactly Pansy's idea of leaving the nest. Pansy had always thought she be there when Marigold first fell in love, to help her through the ups and downs.

"Will you carry a letter to her for me, Doireann? I'll make it as light as can be."

Doireann chittered yes, and Pansy hurriedly found a quill and some parchment and began to write.

When she was done she rolled up the parchment and tied it carefully to Doireann with some string. It took some doing to avoid the large wings, and Pansy was careful not to touch them, they were very fragile.

"Please come back with news, when you can," said Pansy tearfully, and Doireann was off again. 


	16. On the Road Afternoon

****

Chapter Sixteen  
On the Road. Afternoon.

  
Geharion swooped back down into Rivendell, flying like thought, diving over the company that had already left. He landed before Legolas.

"I have flown far. No enemies did I see, but that does not mean they do not lurk nearby. Take care! If you have need of me, call on me by my name, and I will come!"

He took to the air again, and brought his tale to those still in Rivendell, bidding them call if he was needed. He would fly between them all, and aid when he could. 

Off he ran, riding the thermals, until he found a lonely forest pool to fish and stave off his thirst. 

~*~

Marigold watched the Great Eagle fly away, it circled over them once before tearing off. It must be something to be so free. Yet even those great creatures felt the seeping threat of the Dark Lord.

She began to lose her fear of the horse, which was as big as an oliphaunt to her. Saying goodbye to everyone still hung in the air around them. Marigold still couldn't help the surge of happiness she felt at being so close to Draco. In spite of the road ahead, she felt safe with his arm around her. She looked down at his hands clenching the reins, and she took in the countryside, and she wondered at the sword she now carried.

Doireann had gone back to the Shire to tell mother Marigold would be away. She wasn't going to be happy. That left her only Digger Gamgee working at the Inn and her only child on the way to Mordor. It must be a sad life sometimes, to be someone's mother. Draco's mother had cried when he said goodbye to her. She thought about Eowyn, how she had faced the Nazgul, not caring for her own safety. There were many perils ahead, Marigold had to be ready to face them. She closed her eyes and hoped the courage she needed was somewhere inside. 

After the party had traveled for a few hours already, Syntoc approached Draco. "My pupil, do you yet understand why a Wizard's power comes from his innermost thoughts, and not physical things?" 

"Yes," Draco replied. He had thought of little else since they had departed but Syntoc's words and his parents, and Marigold, whose curly head was tucked under his chin.

The landscape seemed to stand out in bas-relief to him, and he felt connected to everything. There was a delicate balance between the ocean of air above and the land below, and all creatures who dwelt there, an interdependence which had never occurred to him in so profound a way. It seemed to him that the working of magic and the wielding of power worked within this frame, and were interdependent on it, and that the only thing that set Mankind apart from the rest was the choices he made between good and evil, and the will to act upon them.

He tried to tell Syntoc this, wondering what he would say. 

~*~

Lunea looked about her, spoke some words softly to her steed, then flew on ahead. Her horse followed the others. 

After some time, she sat down in a branch overlooking the road. The breeze played with her hair. She started to swing her legs like a small child.

"Darkness comes to overtake us, hanging in the air like fog in the morning. What shall perish now from this world so faced with turmoil?"

~*~

Vlad watched silently as Lunea went away. He clung to his horse tighter as it jarred him a bit.

__

:Relax, boss. You're not going to fall.:

:Hm. Think about this; if I fall, you fall too.:

:I can fly.:

:Shut up, Loiosh.:

The Jhereg laughed in his mind. Vlad clung tighter as his head began to pound again, blocking the pain from Loiosh.

"Hey, Syntoc! The symphony started again. Do you have any idea what might be doing this? A headache once in a while, can be accepted, but I know this headache isn't normal."

"Let's see, Vlad. You first had these headaches when we spoke of the Dark Lord. I am assuming you have them when he does damage to something, when he asserts his little authority. I sense that he is doing something now. This is causing you pain, Vlad." 

Syntoc walked in silence over to Draco. "I am pleased at your answer. I now have another task for you, Draco the Wise. Close your eyes. Let your thoughts guide you, and your ears. You should perceive your surroundings, not see them."

~*~

The afternoon was long, and the sun riveting. It dried their mouths only minutes after drinking. In late afternoon they found a shaded place near a quiet pool to fill their bottles and eat.

While the others stretched out for a few moments and the horses drank, Legolas pulled Ayala aside.

He dug through his pack until he found what he was looking for, withdrawing a small circlet of gold. In the center was set a radiant opal, which caught the light and bent it, sending it back out in a thousand different colors. He placed it on her head.

"I meant to give you this earlier, but there was so little time." He stepped back to admire her, the sun in her hair, and the opal shining like the evening star on her brow.

"You are finer than any queen," he said, kissing her. "I love you Ayala, every day with you brings new happiness. No matter what comes . . ."

He did not finish the sentence, knowing she knew all to well what he meant to say.

"Legolas . . . it is beautiful!" said Ayala with great delight. "If only . . ." Ayala's face suddenly became hard, and her eyes distant. "If only my parents and brother were here." Ayala looked at Legolas, and the mood left her. "But you are here, and it lightens my heart. They would love to see you again. Before my brother left over the Seas with Elrond, he asked me to give you something. This gift you have given me brought it back to my mind."

Ayala took her pack and searched through it. She removed a thin, fairly long dagger within a sheath. The sheath was silver with one leaf and an eagle, the symbol of the Proudbows. The blade itself gave off a faint, green aura. The hilt was gold with leaves engraved in silver. "We made it together, him and I. He believed it would be appropriate to give to you." 

Ayala handed the blade to Legolas, her face filling with color.

"It is wonderful," Legolas sighed, measuring the weight of the knife in his hands. It was perfect.

He tucked it into his boot lovingly.

"Ayala, I know your pain, I know that you miss your family. One day we will meet them again, together, your family and mine, for now they are our family." He drew her into an embrace, feeling closer then ever to her now.


	17. As the Crow Flies Fires From the Ashes

****

Chapter Seventeen  
As the Crow Flies. Fires. From the Ashes.

As night charged in, overtaking day, a single stately crow spread its wings in defiance before vanishing in a thicket near the House of Elrond.

Its eyes, like two pebbles of jet, regarded its surroundings with a cool disdain. The sky above deepened from purple to black, the color of his wings.

He hastened from limb to limb, unseen, making no sound, avoiding the trees in which Elves sang or slept. The crow fluttered off in the direction of the gardens. On the western edge, a shrine was kept in memory of those who had departed from the Grey Havens, those who had shirked their responsibilities and gone over the Sea.

A single torch burned there, a flame lit on the day the last had departed and never since quenched. It flickered harmlessly, casting dancing shadows on the rune-covered wall behind.

The crow perched on the side of the sconce, pecking and clawing until the torch tipped. When it landed on the damp grass, the crow flew off, gathering tinder dry leaves and pine needles, which he dropped onto the smoldering torch until flames sprang forth.

A willow wept nearby, it's tendrils swept in the breeze, and the flame licked and jumped until the limb went up in orange ecstasy. Soon the tree was consumed, and the fire went on its way from treetop to treetop. When it began to truly rage, the crow flew up and off, into the cool darkness which was all his heart's desire.

~*~

Kazushe watched as the flames slowly began to consume the trees. He shook his head sadly. 

"You try to break their spirits, Dark Lord, but you do not realize the strength these spirits have. It shall take much more than that to destroy them . . ."

~*~

"Arwen!!" cried an Elf. "Lady Arwen! A great fire has started! It is coming from Rivendell!"

Silvermoon stood up in shock.

"A fire? What could have . . .?" Silvermoon's voice drifted as he realized what could have started the flames.

Arwen jumped from her horse so swiftly that it nickered in alarm. She found the tallest tree she could and began to climb. The tree swayed under her quick passage. When she reached the top she shielded her eyes.

In the distance was the smoke of a great burning, it's shadow darker than the darkness, like a stain on the horizon. She hurried down again.

"We must go back," she implored Edric. He agreed and the race was on. Arwen was very glad they had tarried, for they hadn't gone far. The horses stumbled in the darkness, but the riders drove them on, back to Rivendell.

~*~

Bain, Larz, the Wanderer, Morrolan and Edric had marched far, this was a quiet company full of grim faced men and little had been said and a lot of distance already covered.

The quiet was so deep that Edric stood bolt upright, rooted to the spot when he heard Arwen's call in his mind.

The others stopped at the abrupt halt in the march, looking quizzically at Edric.

"Rivendell is burning," he said almost inaudibly.

"Bain. I must make use of the Arkenstone. I know we agreed not to bring it out into the light of day, if the need were not desperate I would not ask."

Bain reached into his pack, solemnly passing the heavy stone to Edric. Edric raised it over his head in a gesture of invocation, calling to Arwen to do the same with the Silmaril she carried. As Edric began a deep chant, a beam of light burst from the stone. In less time than it took to draw breath twice, the white beam of the Arkenstone was met by a green beam from many leagues distant. Arwen had heard his call.

Edric's eyes closed as his chanting rose and fell, finally reduced to sibilant whispers as together he and Arwen called the clouds. 

Edric lowered the stone, spent, when he felt the first torrents of rain begin to fall on Rivendell. Would it be enough to save the valley? Wearily he handed the Arkenstone back to Bain, his face grey with effort. They had just given their positions away to the Dark Lord as surely as if they called to him themselves. Though Edric was drained in body and soul their need to march on was more pressing than ever.

The company grew even quieter and more dour at this ill turn of events, and each in his own heart pondered the fate of the Elves who had been struck at the heart, and the three fellowships whose peril was now greater than ever before.

Larz sidled over to Edric. "Lean on me," he said gruffly, seeing how the Wizard now struggled. 

~*~

"No, Lady," Emer screamed, seeing what Arwen was about to do. "The Dark Lord will know where we are . . ."

"He already knows, or Rivendell would not be burning," Arwen snapped back.

Emer stood by helplessly as Arwen raised the stone, Zindel at her side. Emer saw the other ray of light, pale white, from very far away, which met with the power of the Silmaril at the very same point in the sky. Emer heard the rumble of thunder after what seemed like hours.

Weakly Arwen lowered the stone. "We must go back. Our help will be needed."

"The Dark Lord seeks to delay us," Emer spat.

"Of course he does, and he will do so again many times before we reach our destination. We cannot leave our people in Rivendell so wounded."

"What is our destination?" Emer asked fiercely.

Silvermoon put a hand on Arwen's shoulder.

"It is painful for me to say, but if we turn back now, we shall give the Dark Lord more time to catch us. We must continue along our way, and hope Rivendell shall remain standing," he said. "There may be something I can do . . ." Silvermoon turned away from Rivendell and started to walk. 

"Silvermoon," Arwen called. "We are bound for Lothlorien. Edric and I have brought the rain by the power of the stones." Arwen's voice was strangled by a sob. "Tell them to come, all who still live, and we will fill Lorien with life again."

Arwen turned away, blinded by tears, thankful that her father was not here to see this day.

"But I am here, Daughter," Elrond called softly from the shadows. He took Arwen in his arms, and she wept. Elrond did not weep, his grief was too deep, far beyond mortal tears.

"Even across the Sea, I heard you. I could not stay, knowing what you face. Cirdan made for us a ship, a ship which cannot return to our land across the Sea. I bring an army. We bear for Rivendell now, Daughter. You brought the rain, you did well." Elrond held Arwen against his chest until she grew still.

"Continue on, to Lorien. We will follow as soon as we have gone to Rivendell, to see what, if anything, can be done there."

Elrond nodded respectfully to the rest of Arwen's fellowship. "Make haste, and follow your instincts. I will come as soon as may be."

Lightning flashed, and the fellowship got a good look at Elrond's followers: a battalion of Elven footsoldiers waited for his next order. He gestured to them and they marched away.

Elrond's expression was fell, thinking of Arwen. Evenstar of her people, with gray touching her hair, the ugly hand of mortality everywhere leaving its mark on her. And Rivendell, the verdant valley, home, burning.

The Elven army cut a wide swath and marched on in all swiftness toward the place where the Dark Lord had infiltrated that which had once never been seen by mortal eyes.

Arwen stood a long time, looking at the spot where her father had stood, wondering if perhaps she had lost her mind completely. The sounds of the Elven troops marching away still rang in her ears like bells, and her eyes smoldered in the darkness.

Suddenly she turned. "Let us carry on." She leapt back into the saddle and they resumed their course. 

Silvermoon walked to Arwen, his shoulders sagging.

"Rivendell, or what is left, shall be protected now, not by Elves, but by others. They shall be undetected by any except other Mages and the Dark Lord. Come now. The burden shall be lightened now."  


~*~

Elrond surveyed what was left of Rivendell, his jaw set and his eyes fierce. For what had been done here, a payment must be exacted. For now, he must determine who yet lived.

The wounded were gathered, staring in disbelief at the smoking ruins and surreal, alien landscape that remained. The trees were blackened skeletons, and acrid smoke still filled the air. The sound of coughing was everywhere.

Small, temporary camps were set up, and water and food brought to the wounded after they had been tended to. The army Elrond had brought surrounded all, but there was little fear the Dark Lord would strike again. The damage had already been done.

It wasn't until the deepest hours of the night that Elrond allowed himself to feel again, and then he thought of nothing but Arwen, proud, beautiful Arwen. The immeasurable well of grief he had felt upon being parted from her, and now to return, and see her so fragile, as if she would shatter were any more laid upon her shoulders.

He wandered the camps, unable to be still.   


~*~

Now began the difficult task of leaving Rivendell altogether. Litters were built from branches left unburned, and the wounded were dragged out. The heat was now unbearable in the scorched and desolate remains. Elrond was thankful many times for the thousand Elves who had accompanied him.

Between the unharmed and the troops, they cleared the valley quickly, marching five by five, their sights set on Lothlorien.


	18. Rivendell Burning Aftermath

****

Chapter Eighteen  
Rivendell Burning. Aftermath.

Legolas was half listening to Syntoc and Draco talking quietly when he gasped. His throat closed on the words Syntoc had spoken at the exact same moment Legolas had been about to say them: "Rivendell is burning."

"We must go back, they will need our help," cried Legolas.

Lunea flew back to the party. 

"We cannot return to Rivendell now. Every step we take backwards gives the Dark Lord a chance to move forward," she said.

"But our people will be hurt!" cried Ayala. "We must help them!"

"If you wish to see the whole world burn, then turn back now!" snapped Lunea. "We have to get the third stone now!"

"Master, I don't mean to question you, but should we not go back? To Rivendell?"

Syntoc shook his head sadly, his hat in his hands.

"There is nothing we can do, Draco. Many forces are at work, for good, and ill. The balance will soon be restored. Close your eyes. Do you not see it?"

At first he saw only the chaos of his own emotions. This, then, was what Syntoc was trying to teach him; how to see past his own heart and into the hearts and minds of others.

He saw the trees of Rivendell, alit, and Elves running, maddened by the destruction, trying in despair to stop the fire. He saw the powers of the two stones brought together, and the rain coming down, and a kingly Elf leading a mighty army towards Rivendell. They ran, tireless and swift. They were almost there . . .

"Now you see with your true eyes," said Syntoc softly. Draco looked at him, with wonder, and fear, and still he felt they should go back. He was torn. He felt Marigold reach for his hand, his face wet with tears. What would happen to the Elves? If they went back, the Dark Lord could trap them all there, if they went on, they would surely meet him anyhow.

"There is no way but forward," said Syntoc. They urged their horses on, a pall of depression over all of them. 

For the first time since he could remember, Syntoc felt himself begin to cry. He was a man of many emotions, yet rarely showed them. He shouted at the top of his lungs, "Geharion!"   
As promised, the bird arrived swiftly. 

Syntoc wiped away a tear, and turned to the bird. "I have a very dangerous task for you, but it must be done. I need you to travel to Mordor. I hear there is one near to the Dark Lord that may defect and save us by delaying his master. If we go on while the Dark One knows where we are, we will be destroyed early. Now, GO!"

Geharion screamed one final scream of rage, circling over the fellowship before turning west.

"If you have need of my brethren, Syntoc the White, call on them. I know the one of which you speak. Look for my return, though it may be long.

"Farewell!"

Geharion rose into the air, catching the warm thermals of summer, and shot away like an arrow, his broad wings beating down, powered by his anger. He had flown over Rivendell, it was ruinous to see. Ahead, a crow flew, pointed also to the west. Geharion followed it, sensing, faster, until he was near enough to snap the crow into his beak and crush it. 

~*~

Marigold watched Syntoc. Draco, behind her on the horse felt like an anchor, the only thing solid and real in a world now gone utterly mad. She held onto his hand until her knuckles were white.

It impaired his ability to rein the horse, but the horse seemed to know where it was going, or didn't mind the slack on one side. Marigold bit her lip, trying to keep from crying again herself.

How could they go on, the Elves had been so kind, and beautiful, everything they now had with the exception of the horses was because of the elves, including hope. If the Dark Lord could burn Rivendell, the most beautiful of places, more beautiful than anything Marigold had dreamt of, he would do anything, destroy anything in his absolute lust for power.

Marigold was no Wizard, but it seemed to her this was what it was all about, the Dark Lord wanted only to control, no matter if he controlled a lifeless wasteland. It was beyond her comprehension.

Draco's hand was cold, and Mari could feel his heartbreak and his silent sobs. She caressed the back of his hand, trying to comfort him, hoping that he knew she loved him. She intended to tell him at the very first opportunity, no matter what his response was. It was a rare thing in one's life to care for someone as she did him, and tonight she had learned that time was very short indeed. 

They rode on a few hours more, before stopping to camp. Though they rolled up in their cloaks and tried, no one slept, they stared up at the night sky, feeling betrayed, and lost. Marigold snuggled up to Draco, feeling cold in spite of the warm summer evening. She kissed his cheek, feeling the tautness of his clenched jaw. 

"I love you, Draco," she whispered. 

"I love you, too," he whispered back, holding her tightly. For a long while neither of them could speak, so heavy were their emotions, from one extreme to the other.

"Arwen," said Marigold after some time. "Do you think, will she be all right?"

"I don't know. She used to be so...untouchable. Not like the rest of us. When I was a child, she seemed to me some sort of goddess, walking among living men as a reminder of what could be, but now what was. Once, I heard her sing. I was walking, looking for my guardian, Nemeth. I was frightened, for I was usually made to stay only in one area of the city, and I was certainly never allowed to wander until I was old enough and knew every corner and turning. Looking back, I suppose I had wandered off and Nemeth was probably searching for me, and I came to a small garden, it was open to the sky. Ivy covered the walls, and the trees were all in flower, and still I was afraid, till I heard her voice. I don't know if she knew I was there. I sat down, listening to her sing, an Elven song...at first the words were meaningless, but I closed my eyes and my mind quieted and my heart opened, and suddenly I knew the meaning of the words. It was a song about travelling to the Havens, and about the Shipmaster, and passing over the Sea, and what waited there, and as she sang I could see that fabled land, the highest tower catching the last rays of the setting sun. There was a sword set in the tower, and it burned like fire, and the clouds were like mountains behind the land...that was my first experience with Wizardry, hearing that song, and understanding, though it was sung in a foreign tongue. In a very large way it was Arwen who set me on this path, who opened the door for what my life will become, one day." Draco's words trailed off and he crushed Marigold to him, his mind filled with images of Rivendell burning, and Elves running, screaming, dying. He tried to push the thoughts away but they kept returning.

To his very great surprise, Marigold kissed him.

Her lips were very soft, and he kissed her back until he was light-headed with longing, and love.

He stroked her hair, kissing her until she fell asleep at last. He tucked his cloak around her, and got up to join Syntoc, who was smoking a pipeful. Draco passed him a small leather bag.

"Pipeweed from the South Farthing," he said. They sat together blowing smoke rings; Syntoc's were round and floated merrily up and off, Draco's were sort of unformed looking and broke apart.

"Like this," said Syntoc, showing him how it was done. 

It was then that Doireann winged her way down, flying directly through the center of one of Syntoc's smoke rings. She landed near Marigold, who was still asleep, then flitted to Draco's knee, the piece of parchment still tied to her thorax.

"Please take this off me, it's a letter for Marigold," said Doireann, raising her wings out of the way as Draco untied it.

"Ah, that's much better." She sat on Draco's knee until Marigold roused, just before morning.

~*~

Deagol was eased by the night, his eyes did not hurt, and the Elves were quiet, deathly quiet. He capered over and peered down at Legolas and Ayala, his arms were around her, their bright eyes closed. Deagol could tell by their posture they were not sleeping.

Wicked Elves, bad Elves, now you have paid for your cruelty, he thought.

Now they were all forlorn, the fire had come, and Deagol saw his chance, off he ran, hearing water running somewhere, not far, not far, lovely cool water and fat fish to eat, he was so hungry, and wretched after the day's heat which dried his skin and eyes, and burnt his feet. He slipped into the water and dove under the surface, back in his own element once again. He longed to follow the stream west, to his master, but he must stay with the hateful Elves and the Wizard who could see right through him, he must not let them come to where the white stone was hidden, thieves, they had stolen it, but the Dark Lord had promised to give it back to Deagol, if he led them astray, led them to him, for they had other gems, which the Dark Lord wanted, more valuable than his precious white stone.

When Deagol had held the white stone, all his wretchedness had fallen away, he had stood upright, strong and fierce, and from his eyes came flames that would wither any Elf, and from his lips, the words of spells. Without the gem he was nothing, nothing, and it angered Deagol that the thing he wanted most was of the Elves themselves, of Galadriel. Galadriel, who had once rejected him, sent him wounded at the heart from Lothlorien, banished. Galadriel was out of his reach now. Others were not. 

Deagol spied a plump fish and dove deeper, snaring it in his clawed hands. He sank his fangs into the back of it, so it writhed before dying. 

~*~

Lunea stood up, her eyes cold. 

"I'm going out again, Syntoc. Be careful. That creature went away again."

Without another word, Lunea flew off. When she was out of sight, she let her tears fall.

__

Someone has to be strong, she told herself. _Everyone has broken down with the destruction of Rivendell. I gotta be strong . . ._

She wiped the tears from her face and weaved through the trees. Finally she stopped near a stream and sat down.

__

:Silvermoon?:

:Hm?: came the reply.

__

:Are you ready?:

:Yes, of course.:

The two minds, though far apart in distance, linked.

__

:Mages of the Light, hear us now! We are seeking your assistance. Rivendell in Middle-Earth has been burnt. The Dark Lord's powers are rising . . .: They called together.

__

:Do you wish us to watch over Rivendell then?: came a voice.

__

:Would it be possible?: asked Lunea.

__

:I do not like this plan,: said another voice. _:If either of you were to need assistance . . .:_

:Can a barrier be set up by at least two?: asked Silvermoon.

__

:Two of us can set up a barrier, but still . . .:

:Then that will have to do. The twins will be best . . .: said Lunea.

__

:Or perhaps the life-bonded,: said a voice. _:We are at this moment near your region with some other Rangers. It would be best if we stayed.:_

:Fine. Can you life-bonds handle it?:

:Yes,: came a voice with mock-irritation. _:We taught you to set up barriers, Luna-chan. Remember?:_

Lunea nearly let go of her link as she nearly exploded with laughter.

__

:Ok. So I made a mistake. Good luck.:

:Luck to you, Luna-chan.:

The links were released, but Lunea remained where she was, waiting for the party to come.

~*~

Vlad laid down, with his hand on his head, his eyes closed in pain.

"I wish this head-ache would go away . . ."

__

:Yeah. Me too.:

:Sorry, Loiosh. I'm trying to block it as much as possible . . .:

:Don't worry about it.:

:Yeah?:

~*~

Legolas was restless and sick at heart. He kissed Ayala's forehead and found his way to the rushing water, dropping to his knees, he bathed his face and hair. The water was icy, even more so on this warm evening, and he tore his clothes off and dove in, swimming downstream to where the water gathered in a great dark pool, overhung with branches. He swam down, and down, trying in vain to wash clean his thoughts. He should be going back, Rivendell was his home, his birthplace. He surfaced, flinging his dripping hair from his face, to see a pair of yellow eyes regarding him.

They grew wider as he swam quickly towards them.

"Deagol," he uttered, his voice full of more menace than any Orc's. "If ever I find you played any part in the burning of Rivendell, I will show you a fire the likes of which even the Dark Lord cannot fathom." He fixed the creature in his gaze, knowing how much Deagol hated the gaze of Elves. So intent was Legolas, Deagol could not look away. He cringed and whimpered, but was held fast.

"Get away from me before I burn the eyes from your head, you hideous wretch," Legolas hissed, and Deagol sprinted off, his head swiveling back to look at Legolas again and again. When he had gone, Legolas heaved himself up onto the back and wept, feeling his emotions snap within him. He felt without a soul, empty.  


~*~

Deagol slunk back into the camp, still carrying a half-eaten fish. The fish fell forgotten in the dirt when Deagol saw the enormous Dragonfly on the Man's knee. Crunchy it would be, and sweet.

Deagol crouched, ready to spring.

~*~

Marigold was dreaming. She sat in a clearing, all around was evidence that the rest of the Fellowship had camped here, they had been here when she went to sleep. Now she was all alone.

She got up, disoriented. Paths of footprints led off in all directions. The fire was dying.

Just as she was about to open her mouth to call out, to scream, she heard a woman calling, singing. She followed the sound toward the trees, and was thrown to the ground when suddenly they burst into flame.

Her eyes flew open just in time to see Deagol poised to leap. "Doireann, LOOK OUT!"


	19. Aftermath Continues Dark Dreams

****

Chapter Nineteen

Aftermath Continues. Dark Dreams.

Vlad got up suddenly, startling Loiosh and Rocza, who had slept on his stomach. 

__

:Boss?! Are you ok?!:

Vlad did not answer, his eyes glazed over. Loiosh flew off, leaving Rocza behind. He found Syntoc weaving smoke-rings around himself and Draco. He landed on the Wizard's shoulder.

__

:Hurry!: said Loiosh to Syntoc. _:Trouble . . .:_

Loiosh flew away, Syntoc and Draco following. Vlad, his eyes still glazed, looked at the two and suddenly lunged towards Draco. Loiosh screamed into Vlad's mind, and the Man stopped, his eyes clearing. He clutched his head in pain, his face turning deathly white, his eyes clear and full of dread, and collapsed onto the ground. 

Draco jumped away from Vlad. Doireann flew off in a rage, just as Deagol sprung at the place where he had sat only a second ago. Marigold ran to his side, and he took her under his arm, backing away. Syntoc had raised his staff, for a split second white fire danced along it. He lowered it, looking at Vlad prostrate on the ground.

"What just happened?" asked Draco. 

Syntoc's eyes were remote. "The Dark Lord, watching. There is some connection between him and this man. What it is, I know not-yet. We must take care. Marigold, Draco, start the fire, we will break our fast and move on. Standing still brings danger."

Draco and Marigold bustled about uneasily, preparing breakfast, while Syntoc stood still over Vlad, watching him. Deagol was nowhere to be seen. A half-eaten fish lay on the ground where he had disappeared. Marigold and Draco shared a conspiratorial look. They would look out for each other. Even more so now that their might be an agent of Mordor in their midst.

As Draco was setting up the pot over the fire, he handed Marigold a scroll. "It's a letter from your mother, Doireann brought it back. In all the confusion I forgot to give it to you." His grey eyes darted to Vlad, and the place where Deagol had been.

Marigold untied the ribbon and slowly unrolled the parchment, sitting down next to fire.

__

My dearest daughter,

There is too much in my heart right now to write everything I want to say. I am deeply dismayed that you chose to go on this quest, but even I am not such an old fool not to know why you have done so. You are a Took after all, and so am I. So as your mother all I can really say from here is eat right, keep warm, and listen to the Wizard. Don't try to be a hero, Mari, so that one day I'll look out the window and see you coming up the road again.

Doireann told me of Draco. I always thought I'd be able to look your suitors over, and decide whether they were good enough for you or not. I hear tell this young Man thinks he loves you. If this is so, tell him for me that he had better look after you, in all the ways that count. Better yet, hand him this letter right now and let him read these lines for himself.

Marigold giggled in spite of the grim morning. She beckoned Draco over and he read the message, smiling. He stood looking over her shoulder as she read the last of the letter.

__

I must close for now, as I'm about to run out of room and Doireann can't carry much more than this.

Don't you go getting hurt, love. I know you'll do your best, you always have. Make us proud.

Marigold smiled, tucking the letter into her pack.

She helped Draco finish the cooking, and they waited for Vlad to wake. 

~*~

Vlad shivered, but did not open his eyes.

__

:Boss?:

No answer.

__

:Boss?:

Finally, _:Did I try to kill someone several seconds ago?:_

:Umm . . .:

:Thought so.:

Vlad opened his eyes slowly, but did not focus on the others watching him. Rocza laid down on his stomach, while Loiosh curled up as close to his neck as possible. Vlad shut his eyes and sighed.

__

:Thanks, Loiosh.:

:For what?:

:For breaking me out of the spell. I heard you yell at me before Syntoc's spell hit.:

:Do I get a raise, Boss?:

:Sure. I'll double your pay,: said Vlad, chuckling.

__

:Heh. I'm sure.:


	20. CrystalGazing Together Return to t

****

Chapter Twenty

Crystal-Gazing. Together. Return to the Party. Riddle.

Intathin gazed into the Palantir, watching the companies dispersed in every direction, their hearts heavy after the wanton destruction of Rivendell. The reintroduction of Elrond into the mix only made the game that much more interesting.

His Elven troops would not avail him against what was coming. Even Elrond had his limitations.

Rivendell was of little consequence, its destruction had served exactly the purpose Intathin had foreseen, causing chaos, despair, shifting the focus.

Intathin stared at the White Gem, glittering like a secret eye in his palm. This fair jewel, which had come from the heart of Lorien itself, had just killed its own sister. The fire that burned within it could not be assuaged, and once turned, would be without end.

Still the essence of Galadriel lived within the stone, a pure spirit, bringer of light, and life.

It was the antithesis of Intathin's purpose, once he had mastered it, even Melkor would weep with shame. Once the other two stones of the Great Anachron were in his possession, the heavens themselves would weep, and bow down before him.

Intathin noted the Elf, Legolas, in the Palantír.

Aware that someone gazed at him from afar, a penetrating glance, the Elf shivered. Intathin laughed.

~*~

Ayala wiped the tears from her face, then got up. She let her feet take her where they wished. She eventually found Legolas, sitting and weeping. He shivered from some unknown chill. Silently, Ayala sat next to him and wrapped her arms around him, as if he were a small child.

Legolas held onto Ayala as if he were drowning. "I was one of the fortunate, to have lived in Rivendell nearly all my life. I have . . . I had many friends there, and not all of them Elves. There were streams of purest crystal there, and places were wrens nested, year after year. A sense of continuity, an unbroken chain, and now it is all wasted."

He buried his face in her hair. "It was you I thought of, Ayala, your memory that helped me endure during the Ring War, your face in my mind during the battles, when it seemed all hope was lost, and the Ringbearer would not return, or complete his mission, it was the thought of you that kept me going, the hope that I would one day see you again, when it was darkest your memory brought me joy, never, I thought, would you know how I loved you, how I wanted you, to be one with you, and now, in my deepest grief, you are here by my side. And now, we must . . ."

Legolas leapt to his feet. "There is trouble at the camp." He scrambled to find his clothes, pushing his still wet hair from his eyes.

Ayala waited patiently as Legolas found his clothes and dressed, then they raced to the camp.

Ayala gasped as she saw Vlad lying on the ground, apparently asleep, with the others observing him closely. Ayala tried to walk toward him, but Rocza raised her head and hissed at the same moment Legolas grabbed her arm.

"What is it?" she asked.

"She doesn't want you near me," said Vlad, his eyes still closed. "I tried to attack Draco, and now Rocza wants everyone to leave me alone."

"You attacked Draco?"

"Yep. Hey, Draco? Are you cooking enough for Loiosh and Rocza, too? They're awfully hungry . . ."

"Why did you attack Draco?"

Vlad did not reply.

"Vlad?"

"Could you leave me alone? My head is pounding, and I don't care to discuss it. Just get my friends here something to eat . . ."

Legolas held Ayala's arm. "Stay away from him, my love. If he harms you, he will answer to me." Legolas spoke to Draco while the others were eating, wanting all the details of exactly what Vladimir had done.

"I will watch Vladimir, you keep an eye on the Hobbit. Have you seen that wretch, Deagol?"

"No," Draco replied. "Not since he tried to eat Doireann. At just about the same moment Vlad decided he didn't like me."

Legolas glared at the back of Vlad's head. Whatever he was hiding would be known soon, no matter what it took to get it out of him. These strangers were not all they appeared. Legolas had little trust left, after yesterday. If Vladimir chose to test it, Legolas would have no other choice but to strike him down.

He kept such thoughts to himself, eschewing the porridge the others were eating, taking some of the Elven drink that was far better fare for the mood he was in. He stood while the others sat in a circle, eating, guarding the camp, and them, from dangers both inside and out. He shivered again uncontrollably, the memory of the Lidless Eye on him still fresh.

Amidst the confusion, an Elf came out of the shadows. Mounted on a black stallion, she rode into the midst of the party. "Hello," she said. "I am Silverberry." She dismounted and walked Glamdring, the horse, toward a small patch of grass, where he started to graze. Then she searched through her saddle bags and found a rope which she used to tie back her long, golden hair that hung in her face; then she turned back to them, her face bright, glad she had found some good in these dark times.

Doireann stayed above the trees, watching Deagol's path. He was heading back towards the camp. She watched also as an Elf, announcing herself as Silverberry, approached and bade them all greetings. There was an aura of kindness around the Elf.

Doireann followed Deagol from above, taunting him.

Deagol scampered back into the camp, glaring and hissing at the new Elf. "More nasty Elvses," he growled, giving Legolas a nasty look and sidling over to the Hobbit, the only one who hadn't treated him like something smelly that had been stepped in.

He caught sight of the crunchy Dragonfly still veering overhead, watching him. Now that he was well fed he paid her little mind. Perhaps later.

Legolas returned his looks of hatred, keeping the female Elf close to him.

"Nasty, wicked Elves, so clever they think themselves. Even they cannot outrun fire and pestilence."

"What do you mean?" Legolas asked. Deagol had forgotten about their keen hearing.

"Deagol has a riddle for you, bright eyes." He climbed onto a tree stump, hunched, and stared back at Legolas with malice.

__

Two stones set within a crown

One stone sparkling far beneath the ground

Three stones, together as one

Will call forth the children of the sun

But two stones, a ruler from days of old

Green and white joined, a deathly cold

Three into one will not a ruler make

For the lesser of three will rule for wisdom's sake.

Déagol cackled, pleased with himself at their expressions of confusion.

Draco was taken aback at Deagol's riddle. His arm went protectively around Marigold as Deagol was a little too close to her. Syntoc was regarding Deagol with a level gaze, his expression inscrutable. Draco knew the Wizard was pondering the possible meanings of the riddle, just as Draco was. There was more to Deagol than he was letting on. They would have to show him some small measure of trust, to get him to talk. Draco and Syntoc shared a swift glance. Something in Syntoc's eyes told Draco not to appear rattled by the riddle, for that was what Deagol wanted.

They went about the washing up, closed up their packs and whistled for the horses. Deagol looked crestfallen that no more had been said. They saddled up and trekked on towards the west.


	21. Mission Reunion Silverstar, the Blu

****

Chapter Twenty-one

Mission. Reunion. Silverstar, the Blue Mage. The Departure.

While Arwen was preoccupied with Silvermoon, Emer slipped from her horse, halting until there was a good bit of distance between her and the others. She led the horse off into the trees, tying the reins loosely to a tree trunk. The horse would be able to free itself with little effort. Emer ran, legs flying, in the opposite direction. She ran on, and on, until she judged the distance to be far enough, and doubled back over her own footprints, heading west.

"Hoom," thrummed Graybough, stepping in front of the Elf, who toppled to the ground. "Where do you think you are going in such haste?"

Emer got to her feet, shaken. "I mean you no harm, Ent. I ask that you leave me be, let me go. I will bring only more ill tidings to Arwen, who has borne enough sorrow, and Silvermoon, who is kind, and you, who have found your mate at last."

Legolas flashed through her mind. She had loved him, for many years. He had never noticed, nor would he ever, now that Ayala Proudbow had won his heart. Legolas was loyal. She envied that in him most of all, his heart was true and unerring, and hers was dark and full of things unfathomable to her. It was why she must run, and never return, and in doing nothing so do no more evil. 

~*~

Arwen and company trudged wearily on. The memory of her father's words sustained her, his return was like lifeblood, and she could go on, somehow.

Elrond could not right the tremendous wrong that had been done, but the balance had shifted somehow in their favor upon his return. How, or when, Arwen did not know, for now she held onto to the knowledge that he would soon be close at hand.

He would know what to do. She was afraid to rely on him, or anyone, afraid it would be for naught, that they would be snatched away, by death's jaws, or something worse.

The moon was waxing to full, riding low in the sky, full of promise. How Aragorn had loved to walk in the moonlight, like sustenance it had been to him.

Something amiss crept to the edge of her peripheral vision, and she halted.

"Where is Emer?" she asked Silvermoon, alarmed.

Silvermoon cursed under his breath, then said, "I shall look for her. Continue on this road. We must hide the stone."

Silvermoon turned around and began to hunt for Emer. It would have been difficult for a normal being, even an Elf, to track Emer, but Silvermoon turned to other signs; that of her aura. Eventually he found her and an Ent. Silvermoon bowed to the Ent.

"Greetings, noble one," he said, then turned to Emer. "Might I ask what you are doing? You have caused us much worry. No. Do not explain. I know what you shall say; 'I am evil and should not be in a company with such noble people.' By the words of my elders, nonsense. I know a Mage who has done much worse than you. In fact . . ." Silvermoon paused. "I believe we may meet him . . .eventually. He is a Ranger. Now come along, you two. We must catch up to Arwen." 

Silvermoon took Emer's hand. "I shall not hear any sort of complaint, understood? You are coming with us."

~*~

Moving swiftly, the army of Elves was able to near Arwen's location, although she had covered a lot of ground already.

Elrond approached her alone at first, running up from behind.

"Daughter," he called, his voice thick with emotion. "We will travel with you the rest of the way. There is strength in our numbers." Elrond stopped. The coming of the thousands behind could already be heard. Arwen's eyes were lit with some cold inner fire. The pain there was unbearable to see.

"Where is the Mage, Silvermoon?" Elrond asked.

"Gone to fetch one who broke ranks with us. Emer Halfelven. I felt it best not to tarry, and hoped they would catch up with haste."

"Agreed. Let us carry on. I had hoped to avail the Mage's healing powers, some of our people are grievously wounded."

Arwen looked back, where the rest were now visible, coming up behind. She strode out among them, to see the wounded for herself, and laid her hands upon many, taking the pain from some. She placed two who could ride upon her horse and walked beside her father. Elrond took her hand.

"There is much to speak of, when we reach Lorien," he said softly. Agreement shone in her eyes. They carried on, the sounds of many footfalls echoing off the trees.

Arwen felt the heavy presence of grief all around, the air was close and still with it though all were in motion.

It was in her heart to lift their grief, to give it form, and expression, and she began to sing a lament that once had been sung by Varda. She lifted her voice, and in clear notes the song carried forth. All around her a great harmony began, thousands of voices rising as one to the heavens. Their grief they poured out, in a great choir of voices, and it was heard many, many leagues distant, so that word began to go out that Rivendell had fallen, but the Elves had not, and would not. They praised Iluvatar, and Ulmo of the deep oceans, and the song spoke of yearning so great that those distant ears who heard could not fail to be moved, and wept without shame.

For something wondrous and fair had gone out of the world, and such a thing cannot occur without marking it's passage. And so they stopped, hands joined, and sang in glorious harmony, a lament for what was lost. 

Emer's voice joined the thousands of others as she grew near, though tears threatened to choke her, she sang with the rest. She should not have run, and nothing could have shown her this more clearly than the song being sung. Unity was what they needed now, more than anything else.

She was bitterly ashamed about what she almost done. Graybough had gone on ahead of her to meet Fimbrethil, leaving her at Silvermoon's side.

At last they entered the circle where the Elves stood, the lament rising and falling in the ancient tongue. Emer's eyes were bright with tears, and she closed them, adding her own grief in the notes she sang, and in the singing all were one. 

When the singing suddenly died, one voice rang out, a soft tenor, yet piercing the whole company, in a language unknown to all. One Elf turned to the singer, his eyes wide, for it was Silvermoon's voice, who had not sung with the others. Then, almost like an echo, came another voice in harmony, weaving his notes with Silvermoon's. A Man suddenly appeared down the road and stopped before Elrond and the company, his voice still ringing, his eyes closed. The two singers abruptly stopped, yet the music seemed to continue.

"Greetings, friend," said Silvermoon.

__

'Greetings . . .' came the reply, but not through speech. The Elves of the company began to whisper, for the Man had not said a word, yet a different voice had certainly been heard.

"This is the Man I told you of, Emer. The one who has done worse than you. You see before you a Man who has paid for his crimes," said Silvermoon. "It is his right to tell you, if he wishes, what has been done and what has happened."

__

'Thank you, Silvermoon,' said the voice. Without another word, the Man weaved his way through the company, and found Emer, though his eyes were still closed. His face was smooth and young, with little wrinkles, yet those who looked at him had the sense of great age. He was tall, though not as tall as an Elf, but thinner than he appeared he should be, almost transparent. It was difficult for all around to identify his species, for he seemed to be a Mortal Man, but yet not so. He smiled, suddenly, and put his hand on Emer's cheek, lightly. Some of the pain she felt drained away. _'A beautiful High Elf should not suffer as you do. You are not at wrong, not yet, merely confused. I am a healer of the minds . . .I am the Blue Mage of Water. I heard my brother call to me, and came to heal you, and any who need my help.'_

The Blue Mage suddenly opened his eyes, revealing them to be pale, yellow and pupiless. The eyes made many of the Elves shiver.

Emer took the Blue Mage's hand and kissed it. "Thank you," she whispered hoarsely. "There are many here far more in need than I was." Emer sensed the hand of destiny at work. "I would help you, if you will allow it, and ask to become your student, and learn the healing arts. Perhaps in this way I can repay the wrong I nearly did, and so keep myself on the path of light."

__

'The art of healing is very complicated,' the Blue Mage said. _'It takes many years to be able to learn. In that time, you must learn not to fall into another's emotions, for as a healer you must learn to heal minds as well . . .and you must realize when a creature cannot be healed.'_ The mind voice seemed to hold much pain in those last words. Suddenly a smile broke the sadness in the face. _'Worry not. I was punished as you see me for I am a Mage, and there are only nine Mages. Mind you, that does not make the lessons easier . . .maybe harder even, for some of the things obvious to a Mage is hidden to others, even to Elves. Do you still wish to continue?'_

"I believe you confuse the child," said Silvermoon.

__

'Perhaps I do, Brother. I merely wish to make it clear. I shall accept you as a student gladly. When do you wish to begin?'

"As soon as may be, so that you may see whether I am fit to learn or not," Emer answered. Perhaps in learning, the inner rift would heal as well.

"When we reach Lorien, there will be time for such things. If you find me a fit student, I will stay with you, for healers will be in great demand in the times to come." She looked in Arwen's direction. "There are wounds great and small, within this company and throughout the Realm. I suppose ours will be a live of traveling, so that we go where we are most needed."

~*~

There was a lightening of heart and spirit as the Mage walked among them, healing, lifting away pain, and Arwen began to sing again, her chin lifted in defiance. Thousands of voice joined hers again, and she kept her hand on the hilt of the sword of Elendil. Let none threaten them, for together as they were, they were a formidable force indeed, and though Rivendell had been taken from them, no more would they allow, no matter how insurmountable the odds against them.

They picked up speed as healing occurred, and Lorien drew ever nearer. 

~*~

However the healing did not help everyone in the party, and Zindel thought to himself, _Can I really stop the Dark Lord?_ He ran into the woods as fast as he could.

Arwen yelled, "Where are you going?" and tried to run after him, but she couldn't keep up.

Graybough caught Zindel in a mighty fist. "Such haste, hoom, where are you running to? Arwen is calling, it bodes ill not to hear so fair a voice as hers. Zindel, what troubles you?"

Graybough strode on, still holding the Wizard, who dangled from his fist like a weed. 

However, after some time, Zindel convinced Graybough to let him go, and he departed the company, and was never seen again.

~*~

Elrond watched as Arwen returned, downcast. "Zindel has left us."

Elrond nodded sadly. "Perhaps he will return to us. Soon we will reach Khazad-dum, then southeast, to Lorien. Soon, my daughter, we will see the golden Mallorn trees, and Lorien will once again be home to the people who treasure it above all else. It is good, do you not see? Good that we will be there, to guard Lorien from those who would destroy it."

Arwen was pale and did not answer. He wound his arm through hers as they walked on. He knew her heart was heavy, and he could do nothing to ease what pained her, lest he could bring Aragorn back from the land of the dead.

"I love you, Arwen. Glad I am to look upon you again, even in such circumstances. These days are sent to try our souls, my daughter. We must not crumple when it is our strength others depend on."

He drew a strand of hair from her face. "I will be here for you, my daughter, to help you in any way I can." Arwen leaned against him and they walked the way together for a while.

"I love you too, Father. It brings me joy, to be near you again. It seems long since I felt joy."

A misty sadness fell between them. "I know that you would ease my burden Father, but you cannot."

Arwen's voice cracked. "I miss him so. I can find no words to tell you how much. Perhaps I do not need to say these things to you, you who left all you love behind to stand beside us here. What of my brothers? And Cirdan? And the Lady Galadriel?"

Arwen could not deny the deep comfort the sound of her father's voice gave to her, and they shared something now they went beyond kinship: loss. These things can only be spoken in the language of the heart, and so they fell into the easy Elven speech, nearer to their hearts could only be song, the deepest expression of their kind when words would not suffice. Arwen would sing her grief to Elrond, but not here. When the moment came she would share it, passing the cup to him, and he in turn would tell her all that had passed in the same way.

As Elrond spoke of her brothers, Arwen smiled, but her face was drawn, the image of Aragorn Elessar in death always near, his face still as though carved in ivory, blanketed in peace. Arwen's son waited for them in Minas Tirith. She did not speak of him. There were still many things unsaid between them, and the road still stretched out long before them.


	22. Upcoming Danger Early Warning

****

Chapter Twenty-two

Upcoming Danger. Early Warning.

Legolas was silent. The sun was westering. Two lines from Deagol's riddle echoed in his mind:

__

For the lesser of three evils will rule for wisdom's sake.

He was torn from his reverie by the cry of a Wolf, a league distant. They came to a breathless stop, listening. At length came the answering call. His hand went automatically to the quiver of arrows at his back and he drew one.

Ayala, sensing the danger as well, took her bow at hand.

"The evil is coming . . . and it has grown strong . . . much stronger than before . . ."

Legolas touched Ayala's shoulder. He drew an arrow from his quiver and passed it to her. She knew in a glance the meaning of why he had done this; these were enchanted arrows, few of them yet remained in this world, crafted by Galadriel, as was the bow he still carried.

Legolas and Ayala were poised to strike, Draco and Syntoc on either side, forming a semi-circle around the others, their swords drawn, blades gleaming like cold flames.

From the underbrush it sprang, the first of the Wargs, teeth bared, slavering for the kill, eyes aglow with bloodlust. The bowstrang sang and the arrow of Galadriel made for its mark, and the Warg screamed in agony as the arrow was buried in its eye. Legolas rushed forward to retrieve the arrow, dancing away from the snapping jaws. In a mere second, the Warg's fellows attacked, circling, surrounding, hoping to pen them in by intimidation. Legolas nocked the arrow again and took aim. Ayala fired, her arrow whistling past to strike at the heart of one. More were coming, and the air was filled with their warbling cries.

~*~

Intathin watched the Wargs attacking, and the Orcs carrying out his orders, and the mass exodus of the Elves to Lothlorien, as he watched all things, as all things fell under his gaze.

Pleased he was at the burning of the Rivendell, the scent of its burning like the sweetest incense to him.

Lothlorien. Red sparks flew from him at the thought of it. Hardest of all to take, it would be. The greatest of prizes when he did. It was the destruction of the Elves he wanted most of all, for when they fell all would fall after them.

Bitter vengeance would be exacted, for Melkor, for Sauron his father, on all who sought to hold back the darkness, the sweet emptiness and cold order which he would bring to bear upon all the lands.

No movement escaped his notice, and his icy gaze brought chill to those who knew who it was who looked upon them, and a frozen dread to those who did not.

Deagol, his servant, brought one ever closer, though the fool had revealed much by his penchant for riddles and the telling of them. The Wizard and his apprentice could well unravel the meaning.

Understanding would come too late for them. Intathin reached out to Taltos again, bringing his mind under the shelter of mighty wings, sweeping away doubt. The Wizard he wanted killed, and the boy brought to him.

Intathin sent the Wargs into a state of frenzied madness. The death of Legolas would bring a momentary surcease to waiting.

The Eagle was watching. When he first crossed the border into Mordor, Intathin would see the fell fury of the Nazgul upon him. For now, he would watch the watcher . . .

~*~

Loiosh and Rocza flew to attack the Wargs with their venomous bite. Vlad, his rapier in hand, looked at the others fighting, his head hazy. He took a step towards Draco and Syntoc, raising his weapon, then stopped.

A soft voice, singing, rose around him and the others, a spell of healing and protection. Lunea suddenly appeared, a staff of fire in her hands. She killed two Wargs in a second, then turned to others. Vlad watched, his mind growing a bit clearer.

"Damnit! I don't want to do this!" cried Vlad. "I know you're using me . . . and I know what you want to do. It's clear to me now, since you used me . . ." said Vlad suddenly. "But I can't let you . . ."

Vlad saw the Warg as it prepared to kill Legolas. He heard Loiosh scream as his familiar realized what would happen, but unable to get there in time. He saw the uncomprehending eyes of his companions, and quicker than he thought possible, he was in the way of the Warg. It was too late for him to fully protect himself against such a violent attack, but eventually the Warg was killed, then he fell to the ground, his rapier landing near Draco, deep gashes letting the blood turn the ground red.

"If I'm injured . . . maybe I can't do any harm . . ." Vlad smiled, then closed his eyes. _Funny_, he thought. _It doesn't hurt._ Faintly he heard Loiosh calling his name, but could not focus his mind. _I wonder what I'll be reincarnated into this time . . . I hope not a Dragaeran . . ._

Lunea saw Vlad fall and cursed under her breath. _I knew I shouldn't have left him. He was more fully into the Dark Lord's grasp than I thought . . . than anyone thought._ She set up a weak protection spell around him, hoping to keep him alive until the end of the battle. She then returned to the Wargs.

"I hope you're listening, Dark One," she said. "You're not going to get away from this so easily . . ."

Draco was about to run to Vlad's side. Lunea was with him; she could do more good than anyone. 

Draco's head whipped around. The Wargs seemed intent on killing Legolas, they continually drew him away from the rest of the Fellowship, attacking in twos and threes, so that Legolas was pressed, and would grow weary.

Draco was paralyzed by indecision for a split second. If he tried to help Legolas, he would leave Marigold undefended, as it was she was slashing with all her might at a Warg with the knife Legolas had given her. The Warg kept snapping and drawing back, just out of her reach. Her eyes were round with terror.

Draco rushed forward, swinging his sword up, and burying it to the hilt in the Warg's spine. It fell with a great cry. Draco seized Mari's hand and hauled her with him until they found Legolas, his back to a tree, his sword flashing so quickly it was a blur.

"Stay with me," he cried to Mari, and swinging hard cut down the largest of the Wargs attacking Legolas, giving the Elf enough time to find an arrow and aim a killing shot at the second, which was hit in the chest; its gray mantle frothed with dark blood as it fell, whimpering, still alive.

The third was moving in on Legolas, growling deep in its throat, its jaws open to rend, to kill.

Draco could hear another pack of them coming. He had many years of training ahead before the use of magic would become like second nature, still he must try. Using one of the few spells he knew, he began to weave a fog, a fog that would blind the Wargs to them, but one that they could easily see through, if the spell was true. If he failed, he would doom them.

The mist began to lift, swirling like a living entity, like a hidden hand. He heard one of the nearest Wargs yipping in anger and confusion, its prey now hidden.

"Legolas, look out!" Draco shouted, as the Warg crouched to spring on the Elf unawares.

Deagol capered about watching. "Kill the nasty Elf, kill them all," he hissed, careful to avoid being seen by the Wargs himself. The bright-eyed Elf who had threatened him would soon die, his arrows spilled out on the ground with his blood, hideous sharp arrows. Deagol grimaced, remembering the fierce light in the Elf's eyes, the light would go out forever, forever, and no more would he threaten Deagol or make him shake and quiver, oh no, he wouldn't.

Then the fog came, queer it was, Elf magic it was, and Deagol spat on the ground in defeat, but still kept himself hidden.

The string of a bow suddenly snapped, and the Warg that was about to kill Legolas lay dead. Draco turned to see Ayala, her eyes burning, still holding her bow.

She looked at Draco. "People cannot always watch behind them, Draco. That is why you have companions, to help you. I shall not allow anyone to harm my beloved as long as I may."

When she realized that the fight seemed to be dwindling, Lunea turned to Vlad. Her face turned pale as she saw the extent of his wounds.

"Stupid, stupid Man. Look what you did to yourself this time . . ." As Lunea tried to heal the wounds, her face became harder. Suddenly strong hands grabbed her.

"Don't," said Vlad, a wild light in his eyes. "Don't bother. I almost killed Syntoc because of the Dark Lord."

"Don't be an idiot, Vlad. No one can control you. A person goes to the Dark willingly . . . or blindly. Once you realize that, the Dark Lord cannot control you."

Vlad did not reply. Loiosh licked Vlad's ear, and Lunea turned to her healing.

"The Dark Lord has made it hard to heal these wounds," said Lunea. "It looks like you may still suffer for quite some time, stupid."

"Thanks. How are the others?"

"I think they'll be ok, now. The fighting is almost finished. For being stupid, you were pretty brave back there . . ."

"Hmmm . . ."

"You're still stupid."

Vlad began to laugh, but stopped quickly as he realized it hurt.

"Thanks, Nea. You're right. No one can control someone without them wanting. I think I'll be ok, now."

"Maybe. The Dark Lord won't be able to confuse you into trying to kill the others, but that does not mean he can't make you wish you had followed him. Because he knows you're mind now, he can still send you great pain . . . in many ways."

Vlad shrugged. "I'll deal with it when it comes . . ."

Marigold stared in disbelief at how fast Ayala had killed the Warg. Draco and Ayala slashed and shouted at the last two, drawing them off Legolas, who killed one while Draco and Ayala took the other, the last and largest of them all. Marigold moved closer to Draco on wobbly legs, getting a close look at the one that lay dead at Ayala's feet. It's mouth was open, it's fangs as long as Marigold's forefinger. She bent over to look even closer, and promptly fainted.

Legolas moved, but Draco reached the Hobbit's side and had taken her hand before Legolas could reach her. Legolas knelt, touching Marigold's forehead.

"It is difficult for her, her first real taste of danger, and battle. She will need reassurance from you, Draco, she displayed remarkable courage in spite of her fear. She has not found her center yet. With your help, she will." He rose.

Ayala stood nearby, watchful. He took her hand, bringing it to his cheek.

"I owe you my life, Ayala Proudbow." The opal on her brow flashed at the slight movement of her head. It changed colors as her eyes did, her eyes in which he could happily drown forever. He pulled her close.

"It seems the Dark Lord has not forgotten the part I played in Sauron's downfall. He seeks to delay us. We must move out, with all haste, and alter our course as we may. There will be other tricks, and traps, and Deagol to lead him to us." Her hair played out through his hands as they shared a silent moment together.

Deagol watched dismally. The wicked Elf escaped death, once again. It was a long way to Mordor, many things could happen before then, many things.

Deagol slunk back into the camp, now littered with dead Wargs, his eyes glowing. One of the dead wore a chain around its thick neck, with a small satchel attached to it. Deagol slipped it off unseen and stole away with it.

"Mari?" Draco lifted Marigold to a sitting position, her head resting against his chest.

Ayala brought him some water and he bathed her face. Her eyes fluttered weakly open.

"Are you all right?" he asked. 

She looked up at him beseechingly. "What happened?"

"You fainted."

"Oh dear. What a coward I am."

"That's not true. You were really brave, Mari. You killed two of them all by yourself."

"I did?" She looked as though she might faint again. Draco changed the subject quickly, bringing her some waybread to eat.

"We should fill our water bottles before we move on," Draco suggested, trying to be practical and calm to relax Marigold, whose face was still white. He felt helpless, wanting to help her and not knowing how. And he noticed Deagol was nowhere to be seen.


	23. The Orcs Captured

****

Chapter Twenty-three

The Orcs. Captured.

The morning came. The morning passed. The Orcish camp began to stir. The hunters gathered pigs for the night's feast. The leader of the camp, Grool, emerged from his tent. He sat in the place of honor at the table. 

After the barbaric festival Grool stood up. "Tonight we make a raid!" 

At this all the Orcs who were sober enough to have heard cheered the brilliance of their leader. 

"We shall attack the nearby town of Bree. We shall take a few of the wolves. Take all you can carry! Take who you want! Murder those you don't! Take all the animals that would be suitable to use! Tonight Bree shall blaze like Dale after the dragon! I want the party assembled in an hour! Bree shall burn! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

~*~

Pansy had stepped outside the Inn for a breath of fresh air when she saw the Great Eagle overhead. The Eagle swooped down.

"Orcs approaching, make ready!" it cried, and Pansy's hands went over her mouth. Seconds later she heard the horns and the distant calling.

"Fear, fire, foes!" She dashed back inside and began screaming the news. The customers scattered as everyone prepared in haste to defend themselves. Ordinary household items soon became weapons as the people of the Shire readied for the onslaught. Orcs, how could they possibly stand against Orcs?

~*~

Grool had placed his amulet on before the battle. It's silver gem shone in the sun.

His Orcs attacked Bree suddenly and violently. Some Halflings and Men tried to defend the town but were cut down were they stood. The raiders burst into homes and inns, burning what they didn't steal. They got to an inn called the "Green Dragon" and Grool burst in. He looked around and grabbed a female Halfling. 

"Let go of me you big brute!" she screamed. 

"Shut up or I'll eat you!" 

His raiders burst in dragging away kegs of brandy and whiskey. They took all the animals they could get their hands on. Grool took a torch and caught the inn on fire. They robbed the town blind and burnt it to the ground. They dragged their loot to an old troll cave to store. That night they planned on having a large feast. 

Grool took his prisoner to the fire. "Who are you little Halfling?" 

"I am Pansy Took." 

"Whatever. Just cook our feast or we shall have Took stew! And if you do a good job of cooking, we may keep you alive. So cook!"

Pansy did as she was ordered, cooking them a feast worthy of a King, cowering in misery while they ate it, wondering if she would live to see the dawn. And what of the Shire? Had everything been destroyed?

She must find a way to get word out to Marigold, to anyone, that she had been taken. She had a better chance of sprouting wings than getting a message through to anyone at this point. Grool glowered at her as he helped himself to more roast chicken and several loaves of bread. 

"Bring us some more ale!" he bellowed, and Pansy jumped up, her legs shaking. She brought the ale, trying to stay out of his reach.

After the feast, Grool had his one sober troop fetch Pansy. 

"That was a tremendous feast, little Halfling. I think I want to keep you. Here," Grool gave her a roast pig. "We have to keep you healthy now. Arzon! Fetch the cage. We wouldn't want our cook escaping on our trip back to the Misty Mountains now do we?" 

He stuffed Pansy into a small wooden cage and brought her into his tent. "Good night little Halfling," he said and went to sleep, snoring loudly the whole time. 

The next morning Grool gathered the troops, packed the camp and prepared to leave. Pansy rode with Grool on a stolen horse. They made haste for the Misty Mountains . . .

Pansy hunched in misery on the horse, Grool's foul hand gripping her tightly. If only he would let go, she could try to jump off and run away. Her legs were too stiff to carry her far, she had never been horseback before.

Her spirits lifted briefly when she saw a Dragonfly humming towards them. It darted away again, only a tiny cousin to Doireann's race. She looked around numbly. She recognized some of the other horses. There was Starlight, who belonged to Farmer Ludo's daughter, Rosie. What had happened to them, and to the Shire? Was the Inn the only place attacked? Pansy wanted desperately to believe that. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think of some sort of plan, and tried not to see the hand covered with warts holding her down on the horse.

Grool and company had stopped for the noonday meal. Grool was barking orders and his troops were scurrying to obey. The Orc master did not notice at first the old beggar dressed in rags coming down the road.

"What do you want, old Man?" Grool spat impatiently. Probably some lost old fool looking for a morsel. Grool despised beggars, why did they not learn to take, when all was at hand?

The old Man raised a gnarled hand. "Burn nothing else, for now. Let silence fall over the lands, so they are lulled, while the stormclouds gather. Heed my words, no deed escapes the lidless eye that never sleeps . . ."

The old Man vanished in a wisp of smoke as if he had never been, and indeed he had not. No one saw or heard him but Grool.

When the old beggar came, Grool smelled something strange about him. When he mentioned the Lidless Eye, Grool understood. The beggar was a servant of Mordor. The band got back on their mounts and made for the Misty Mountains, now just about a day's journey away.

~*~

They made it to their stronghold at night. Grool stationed two guards telling them to kill any who didn't bring tidings from Mordor. He brought Pansy to the great hall. He hung her cage so it was fit for a bird. He posted a guard there while he went to add the loot to his stash . . .

Pansy watched closely, making note of Grool's stolen booty. She could tell someone what had been taken, if she lived through this.

She wasn't going to get away stuck up in this cage like a budgie. If the dehydration didn't claim her first, she was parched, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

One of the guards was eyeing her wickedly. There might be a way to charm him, though the thought was more disgusting than being made into stew. If she could just get out of this filthy cage she might have a prayer. There was an extremely nasty looking weapon hanging from the Orc's belt, which probably weighed more than she did.

He was still watching her. She tried to smile at him. "Might I have some water?"

He grunted, but brought her a small cup which she drank down in one gulp. She could have taken ten times that amount, but she thanked the Orc as if she'd just been given a bottle of the finest wine.

"You seem much friendlier than the others, much more reasonable," she went on. His expression was unchanged. "How am I to cook you all supper if I'm trapped in here, won't you let me out so I can stretch my legs a bit first?"

He grunted again, something about orders. 

She sighed. "It's a pity for you, isn't it, it must be very lonely for you, with no women, always having to take his orders, I reckon if you killed him you could take command of this lot." She saw a glimmer in his eyes that wasn't there before.

"You seem much bigger and stronger than him, I don't know why you stand by and let him order you about. You could kill him, and be in command by morning, and all that loot would be yours . . ."

He reached up to unfasten the cage. 

Grool returned to find the guard reaching up to open Pansy's cage. "What are you doing, fool?! Why are you releasing the prisoner!?" 

"I don't have to listen to you any more, Grool. I will kill you and rule this part of the mountains!" The guard rushed at Grool, his weapon raised. 

Right before the fool struck, Grool hit him in the head, killing him. "I hope that is a lesson to all of you fools. I will kill all traitors." He walked towards Pansy. "I suppose this was your doing. So, you want to get out of your cage, do you? I know just the thing for that." 

Grool opened the cage and grabbed Pansy's legs. He dragged her out and walked down the maze of tunnels. He went to a lake deep in the bowels of the mountain. He jumped in an old boat and rowed to an old island. 

"Now you will learn that it is better to stay quiet in your cage, than try to rally my men against me." Grool dumped her on the island, where Gollum once lived . . .

~*~

After putting Pansy on the island, Grool decided to strengthen his diplomatic ties for the upcoming struggle. He went into his private chamber and drew forth a large ugly vulture. "Dark Wing, relay this message to the Dark Lord of Mordor. 'My master, my forces and my services are at your disposal. Simply send word and I will send my troops to Mordor and fight for you. Your servant, Grool.' Now go, you disgusting bird!"


	24. Lost and Found Escape

****

Chapter Twenty-four

Lost and Found. Escape.

Pansy sat breathing, still hearing the cruel echo of Grool's footsteps as he left her. Wherever here was. There was a regular sound of water dripping, it rang off the walls with a loud plop plop that seemed to reverberate in her ears.

Her hand hurt, and she realized she was clutching something. Something on some sort of string. She must have torn it from Grool's neck when he threw her down. She strained in the murky darkness to see what it was.

It was some sort of talisman. She ran her thumb over its surface. A jewel of some kind. She felt the cord, tying it where it had been broken, and slipped it over her neck. The jewel was cold against her breastbone. She stood up timidly. If only she had a light of some sort, there may be foul creatures lurking nearby, or an obvious way out that couldn't be seen in such darkness.

She thought her eyes deceived her, as a small light bloomed within the jewel. She held it aloft, looking around. She was on an island in the middle of a subterranean lake.

"Good day, lady Hobbit," said a voice softly behind Pansy. Pansy whirled around and nearly screamed to face a Hobbit girl. She was thinner than most and a bit taller, but her face was rosy and smiling. What was odd was the light surrounding her, almost as if she were emitting it herself. A yellow diamond, the same color as her eyes, was on her forehead.

"Hello. My name is Sakura. We're here to help you."

"We?" asked Pansy.

"Yes. My mate and I."

Pansy looked around, then spotted someone standing nearby. He stepped into the dim light, and Pansy realized he was a Dwarf. He was slightly thinner than most Dwarves, but still strong in body. On his back he carried an axe about his height. His face was clean-shaven and grim. A dark brown diamond was on his forehead, his eyes matching. Pansy looked from one to the other.

"We are here to help you," said the girl. "I am the Mage of Air and my mate is the Mage of Earth. Your daughter is being helped by our kind. Come now." 

Sakura took Pansy's hand.

Far away a light broke into the cave and the dead looking Eagle got up and flew to Gollum's island. "Hello, Pansy," she said. "Are you ok?" 

The Hobbit looked up and nodded. 

"I am Mir, I will stay with you, leaving to get food occasionally, until we can rescue you." She nestled upon the nervous Hobbit's shoulder.

"We could save you both, Mir," said Sakura. "You're brave to come here, but if we are going to leave, we must leave quickly. It shall be more difficult to escape these Orcs if they find us here."

Mir nodded, "Yes, I am lucky to be alive. That vile Orc peirced through my heart. Luckily Ara alerted my Lady and she sent the light." She softly clucked her beak at the Mages knowing the light had restored her and the only one who needed rescuing was the Hobbit.

Sakura gently led Pansy closer to her and Ghim.

"I am going to cast a difficult spell, Pansy," said the Hobbit. "We are going to teleport away, just outside this mountain. If we were to go by boat now, we would be captured by the Orcs, no doubt. It will still be dangerous, for I shall be weakened, and we shall be close to those vile creatures. The spell itself will not harm you, Pansy. You may feel a little ill in your stomach, but it shall not hurt you."

Sakura closed her eyes, still holding Pansy's hand. Ghim, her mate, stood behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. In a language unknown to Pansy, Sakura chanted. Then the world twisted, and suddenly they were outside. The Hobbit sat down.

"A moment's rest, then we shall head out. Perhaps Mir may have a suggestion on where we shall go?"

Mir looked up and flew high. "We must go, now!" she said. "They are coming. Quickly there is a hollow near here where they can't find us. The sun and moon shine at all hours through the pass and they wont go through it all." 

Mir flew off to the West and the two Mages and Hobbit followed. It was true; the way to the cave was bright with a pure light. When they got there it was more of a Hobbit hole than a cave. 

"This is where my Lady hid from the Orcs long ago. The light held them off so she was here so long to carve all this out of the walls." Mir flew up to a niche in the wall where she roosted.

Pansy held Sakura's hand, trying to make some sense of it all. She was dizzy and sick and overwhelmed.

"The Goblin, Grool, I took this from him." She offered Sakura the amulet she had torn accidentally from Grool's neck.

"The filthy brute must have valued it, he'll be wanting it back, it isn't wise to steal from Orcs. Oh what am I going to do?"

~*~

After a day of the disgusting food that Grool had made, he decided to get Pansy back. He went to the boat and landed on the island just as Pansy and the others teleported. Grool jumped back in the boat and paddled as fast as he could. He ran towards the entrance, knocking back the guards. _Treacherous Halfling. I will find and eat you raw!_ Grool ran with a few troops along the edge of the mountains. he would find Pansy and perhaps even eat the people who had teleported her.


	25. Ascent to Redhorn Pass

****

Chapter Twenty-five

The Gap of Rohan. Ascent to Redhorn Pass.

Edric recovered himself quickly bodily, still reeling inside from the shock of what had happened to Rivendell. He and Arwen had brought the rain too late. There was nothing for his company to do now but press on.

The land began to climb, and smooth grass gave way to rocky inclines, and they had to pick their way.

There was the barest hint of autumn to come in the air, despite the heat, which was oppressive at its fullest.

"I wonder if the Dark Lord is responsible for this accursed heat," grumbled Larz. Flies tormented them, and other biting insects who made their home in the rocks, eeking out an existence.

"It is possible," said Edric. He would suppose nothing after what had been done to Rivendell. It could be rebuilt, over time. The passage of seasons and a good deal of magic could erase most of the damage. He wondered where the Elves who dwelt there would go now, while still concentrating on what dangers might be hiding in the road just ahead.

~*~

The quietest of companies they were, and they marched on, making even better time than Bain had hoped for. At nightfall on the second day, they reached the Gap of Rohan. They stood considering.

"I have traveled this way once before," said Bain. "Were it winter, I would chose another path, and even in summer, it will be treacherous. We should go through the Redhorn Pass to Eriador. It is likely we will still see snow on the heights, I wonder, in this heat."

Edric stood stock still as if listening to something more than the sound of Bain's words. Bain left him to his thoughts for a moment, raising his eyes to the heights. The land sloped ever upward in the distance, at this the beginning of the Misty Mountain range. The Redhorn Pass was as good a way as any over, unless there was a way beneath, which Bain would far prefer. Dwarves are not mountain goats, it is their way to tunnel, not climb. Larz stood nearby, his face showing similar thoughts.

The Wanderer and the Wizard mumbled agreement, and they began to climb. This was wild and beautiful country, untouched, and the wind sang its lonely song as they went higher. It was harder going the higher they went, and around midafternoon they stopped to eat and rest under a shaded overhang of rock. Below, slanted meadows rolled out before them. Above, the peaks stretched up, wreathed in mist at the top, unseen.

The Wanderer had said little since they had set out. Larz knew there were many stories to be gotten out of him, in time. Larz took some bread, his ax beside him, while Edric smoked.

~*~

At nightfall they camped under an overfell of rock. The air was thinner, and the heat of summer died quickly away in the chill air of evening. Small birds of prey who nested in the rocks dove away on the hunt, fearless, for this was their realm and they were masters of it. Edric watched them as they supped on dried meat and bread, and Edric brewed a pot of tea over their small fire.

The Wanderer sat solemnly in front of the fire after finishing his meal. Seeking something to do among this almost his silent companions, he left the group to keep watch. It was when he was no more than a few feet away from the group that his senses kicked in.

He could sense the movement of the Dark Lord's forces. They were not heading towards this Fellowship, but the others were very likely to be in danger.

"I believe it would be in our best interest to depart earlier than planned, and with haste," he said as he returned to the group. "I have sensed the forces of the Enemy, and I believe the others are in danger, probably under attack. The use of the crystal earlier has undoubtedly given away our general location, so we must be very wary as we travel."

The Wanderer's senses alerted him of another presence much closer to the group. "There is another group ahead, though I do not believe that they are evil. But that does not mean that we should not be cautious . . . Sleep while you may, for we will depart early."

Because of the fact that the Wanderer did not sleep, he left the group once again to keep watch . . .

Bain closed his eyes, resting but not sleeping. He rose, taking in the night air. The Wanderer sat not far off, himself a shadow in the darkness.

Bain eased warily over and sat down beside him. He spoke in the blunt way typical of his people. "Who are you, and what have you seen?"

The Wanderer was almost surprised at Bain's question. However, he remembered that speaking in a blunt fashion was characteristic of the Dwarves.

"Who am I, and what have I seen?" he repeated. "Well, I can safely say that I have seen much . . . Though it is too much to tell here and now, and there are some things I do not wish to talk about.

"But who I am is a question which has puzzled many, including myself, for many years. You see, I am neither Man, nor Elf, nor Dwarf. I am merely a lone, sentient being which has walked the lands for many . . . many years. During those years I have done what my name suggests: wandered. I have wandered and contested the power of the Dark Ones for almost as long as I can remember.

"So who am I? I cannot tell you because there is no clear answer, and there probably never will be. I only ask that you judge my actions, and decide for yourself who or what I am: good or evil."

An awkward silence followed, and the Wanderer checked the position of the moon for some indication of the time. "You should sleep while you still can Master Dwarf. We depart early tomorrow, and I suspect that we may meet some resistance further along the Pass."

~*~

Morrolan awoke suddenly, his hand on Blackwand. He scanned the area, then relaxed when he saw nothing.

__

Strange, he thought to himself. _This whole journey seems . . . almost like a dream. It doesn't make sense to me . . ._

Morrolan closed his eyes again. _Such a strange group. I wonder if Lunea knew I would be of service to them. I wonder how the others are doing? If only I knew what exactly we were doing . . ._

~*~

Edric and Morrolan sat bemused, sharing some pipeweed and watching Bain talk to the Wanderer.

"The beardling will get no clear answers from that one," Edric commented. "I expect we will meet the unexpected tomorrow. We must take care to present ourselves wisely." Edric had seen the scout earlier and was wisely saying nothing.

"Where is your home, Edric?" asked Morrolan.

"Dale, which lies in the shadow of the Lonely Mountain, Bain's kingdom now. In my youth it was the kingdom of Smaug, and he ruled it with an iron fist."

"Who was Smaug?"

"A Dragon. I anticipate meeting some of his kin before our journey is over. I hear tell they are far more fierce than old Smaug, though he was a terror unto himself in his day. Tell me of your home, Morrolan. You have not said how you came to be here. Were you the pursuer, or driven?" Edric looked at Morrolan unabashed, blowing a red smoke ring that took the shape of a tiny Dragon. Flames sprouted from the smoke-dragon's mouth before the shape dissipated like vapor.

Morrolan looked out upon the landscape surrounding his company. 

"I came with Lunea. She convinced me to help find Vlad. There is . . . not much to say of my home. Castle Black is a floating castle. Any who are invited may stay without being killed permanently. It is far away now . . ." Morrolan looked at Edric. " . . . And so are the others. I hope they are all right . . ."


	26. Eriador

****

Chapter Twenty-six

Eriador

"My Queen, strangers are approaching from the Redhorn Pass, though still on the other side," cried a sentry, passing the message along from the line of scouts posted all the way along the pass.

"Friends or enemies?" was Vanya's deadpan reply.

"We do not know. There are two Dwarves, and a Wizard in their company. The Wanderer is with them."

Vanya smiled slightly. "Very well. We will make ready in case this is some trick of the Dark Lord's. Perhaps he is angry his eye cannot reach here." Vanya laughed, low in her throat, the elaborate headdress she wore rattling.

"Carry out my orders! Go!" The sentry scurried off to do her bidding. Vanya surveyed the troops in their thousands. The alert went out. They prepared for possible battle, or the making of new allies. Which way the wind blew depended on the actions of the strangers when they came over the pass.

Elodin, seeing the sentry speaking to Vanya, quickly closed the distance between them as the sentry departed.

"What is it, my love?"

"Strangers, coming over the Redhorn Pass." Vanya stilled stared at the battlements of the mountain peaks. Elodin turned his head. The Horde was already mustered, they began to gather. A huge army; some renegade Dwarves, some Elves. For the most part they were Women, Women like Vanya, fierce fighters who lived life by their own rules and served no Man. He turned his head to looked at her again. For all the years they had been joined, she had the power to excite him still, in ways so deep even she did not understand. Her eyes were ice blue as she turned to him.

"I wonder what they will think of us. Those on the other side whisper of the Golden Horde, like an old myth, with no truth in it. I fear our long solitude is about to be broken, soon our services will be needed. Much depends on which side these strangers claim allegiance. Kaia said the Wanderer was among them."

"If he is with them, they serve not the Dark Lord," Elodin observed. "During the Great War of the Ring, the Wanderer was one of Sauron's strongest opponents. There are many who say it is he who turned the tide."

"We shall see," said Vanya.

"Ever the skeptic." Elodin smiled, drawing her close, pleased when her stance softened and she allowed his kiss, his hands roaming over her body.

He held her, inhaling her scent, finding himself looking up at the misty peaks, wreathed in silence still.

~*~

Vanya gave the order, and the Horde quickly formed up, taking a defensive stance. Whoever these strangers were, when they made the descent from the Redhorn Pass, they would be met with resistance, or welcome, depending on what they had to say. Though the Wanderer was among them, still they must be on their guard and take no chances.

The watch changed every two hours, and Vanya took the last watch. They waited tensely as word came back from the scouts on the pass. They strangers were on the move before dawn.

Elodin joined Vanya on the last watch, standing beside her while her personal guard surrounded them both. Elodin had watched most of the warriors around them now grow up. One of them was their daughter, Aidan. Their son, Tolar, still slept in their tent, guarded by two.

The scouts came in with their reports. It would be most of the day before the strangers reached the bottom of the pass. Dawn began gleaming, the first rays of morning creeping over the pass.

"Go and rest," said Aidan. "They will not come down for hours yet."

Elodin beckoned to Vanya, and they went to look in on Tolar, who still slept soundly, wrapped in a thin blanket, for it had been a warm night.

"Walk with me," Elodin urged, and Vanya regarded him from a beneath a wealth of red lashes, her eyes deep emerald. She knew what he wanted from her even better than he did. He traced the lines of her jaw with one finger, her beauty was primal, drawing him in. There could be no one for him but her, if he lived a thousand years. Vanya was without equal.

They walked until they found a place, where they could be alone, where he could make love to her until the sun rode up over the pass, where she could cry out unheard.


	27. Emer

****

Chapter Twenty-seven

Emer

Intathin turned his gaze to his wayward servant, Emer. Her beauty was startling. He feasted upon it, as he did all things. Once he had possessed her, and he would so again. She would not slip from his grasp so easily . . .

He waited with infinite patience until she slept. The tireless Elves has stopped, to rest. Like a chill wind, he floated into her dreams, and, to her seeing, he was fair, the living embodiment of all she craved, and he ignited something deep within, far more than sexual, the promise of undying love.

His laughter rolled like thunder as she moaned in her sleep, as he fulfilled every longing, his own nature insinuating itself around her every thought. With subtle nuance he seduced her, the perfect love. Bringing her to the heights of ecstasy, he whispered into her soul . . . 

"Come to me . . ."

~*~

Silverstar looked at Emer as she slept.

__

'There is much pain in that one . . . she has not completely let go of the Dark . . .'

"I worry, Brother," said Silvermoon softly, sitting next to him. "If she is still connected to the Dark, then she may hurt you."

__

'When she realizes that no one can control her, that is she who decides her path, then she will find herself, for good or evil. I wish her to take the path of Light, but I can only show it to her, not force her to take it. Yes . . . this may put me in danger, as we all are.'

"I stand corrected," said Silvermoon, but his voice sounded tense.

Silverstar put his hand on Emer's head. _'Only time shall tell what path she takes. She is the only one who can decide her fate. That is the first lesson.'_

~*~

Emer did not feel Silverstar's touch, nor hear his words. She was past hearing, and knew only his touch, the one she wanted, the one she loved. She knew not how she came to be here in this place with him, only that she was consumed by need, as she struggled to become one him.

How had this happened? He did not love her, yet he was here, as she had always wanted him to be, taking what she longed to give him. She asked no questions as he whispered, "Come to me." She was in his arms, and that was all that mattered, and they were one.

Emer was unaware that Silverstar watched over her as she trod in the realm of dreams, for her deepest desire had come to her at last. She never knew he heard as she gasped her lover's name . . .

Legolas . . .

Then it was all shattered, and he was gone, and she heard the words "the first lesson," and her eyes flew open.

Cruel, it was cruel, he was torn away from her, and the realization soon came that he had never been there at all, it was only a dream, only the Dark Lord dangling in front of her what she could never have. She was empty, adrift.

Perhaps she was wrong, perhaps Legolas was calling to her from afar. She would find him, go to him.

What of Ayala?

Silverstar laid his hand over hers, and she looked up at him, trembling.

Silverstar's eyes seemed to be filled with sadness for an instant, then they were masked.

__

'You were not listening, were you?' Silverstar sighed and sat back. _'Emer, you must learn that no other can control your destiny . . . only you. It is the choice of all creatures whether to turn to the light or dark . . . to accept or destroy. This first lesson takes many years to learn. Do you understand? No. Do not answer now. I believe you understand what I am speaking of and you feel uncomfortable with my knowing. Forgive me. You remind me of myself.'_

Silverstar stood up and faced the moon.

__

'Let me . . . tell you a story. There was an Elf, fair and talented people called him . . . and blind to all these talents. He had a great task . . . and at the time could not accept it fully. He fell into darkness and tried to kill those he loved . . . and his companions . . . out of bitterness. He was reborn into another shape . . . blind, mute, and deaf, no longer belonging to any race . . . into me. I was reborn merely because it was destined for me to become a Mage. I was bitter, something Elves found confusing. Things that I wished never came true . . . or so I thought. I was loved, though I believed it not. The Mages tried to reach me. One girl, who had not come into her power at the time, tried to stop me. I believe she calls herself now . . . Lunea. I tried to kill her, Emer, and my brother stood in my way. I nearly ended their existence, and at the hands of my brother, I died and was reborn.' Silverstar turned to Emer. _'Try to understand, Emer. Love is not something easily understood. It comes in many forms and it can be bitter . . . if the one you love is taken . . . or one feels unloved. I believe you would be the former, I the latter, no? Perhaps we may be able to heal together . . .'_

Silverstar walked a distance away, and sat on a rock. Sitting there, Silverstar appeared like a statue, carefully chiseled.

"I believe that story hurt him a lot to tell you," said Silvermoon suddenly, who had been sitting quietly beside without being noticed. "As a good student, perhaps you should talk to your teacher . . ."

Emer nodded to Silvermoon, who was kind. She went to Silverstar, curling up at his side on the ground, her head resting against his leg.

"You spoke truly, you can see me as I cannot see myself. It is true, he loves another. Believe my words, I would do nothing to interfere with his happiness, for it is that I want most of all, even if it means his happiness is found in another. I would not hurt him, even though loving him brings me pain, it cannot be any other way."

She closed her eyes. "If this is the first lesson, I accept it, for it means accepting what I cannot change. How will I know teacher, when it is the dark calling, or only my own desires, for what I cannot have? I would do anything, to make it true, that he would come to me as he did in my dream, but I cannot, if it means bringing heartache to him, and to the one he loves, and all the while it is only some ruse of the Dark Lord. I am young, much have I to learn, not the least of which is my own heart. It could be I wish for too much, seeking to learn to heal the hearts of others when I cannot mend what lies within my own, but only accept, I will try."

His hand on her hair was like the touch of her own father, and she did try, to turn away, from Legolas, and the Dark One, to look ahead.

__

'It is sometimes hard to tell the difference from the dark and your own desires. That is when you must look inside yourself.' A smile crossed Silverstar's face. _'It is not clear cut. A dream can be both. Your desire for the other is clear. However, I believe it was the dark who made your dream. Your second lesson, to look inside yourself. You must search this dream of yours, consider if this is truly what you wish. Feel your emotions again, the sensations, everything. Are they...completely real . . . or is there something that felt odd to you? A voice . . . a gesture . . . your surroundings. Minds have a tendency to make things . . . idealistic. However, the dark leaves a feeling of unease . . . like the mind is being forced in a direction. This is what you must look for. It is not easy . . .'_

Silverstar sighed. _'It is not easy at all. Not all healing shall be this difficult, but before you heal others, you must heal yourself. I am sure I confused you now. I shan't say I am best at explaining.'_ Silverstar laughed, a musical sound within the mind_. 'I am more of a visual person, believe it or not. However . . .'_ Silverstar cut off his words suddenly. _'No . . . I believe that would be an unwise path . . .' _he whispered.

Emer took Silverstar's words to heart, walking a little ahead, lost in thought. She felt a great relief after all that Silverstar had said, and took his advice to heart.

She thought hard about every detail of the dream she had had, seeking for the unease Silverstar had spoken of, and finding none, remembering only the wild joy.

It didn't mean the Dark Lord wasn't behind it. Maybe trusting only in what was in front of her, what she could reach out and touch for herself, was the safest course for now.

She hunkered down against the wind that had come up suddenly. Legolas would never know of the way she felt, and she would just have to accept it. She began to think about what she would do once they reached Lothlorien and the Silmaril had been hidden. Perhaps she would return to Mirkwood, help guard it against the fate that had befallen Rivendell, if Silverstar would come with her. She would have to get used to a life of travel, healers went where they were needed, and lived like vagabonds. She had hoped for a family one day, and children. She had already committed herself to Silverstar's teachings, she would not turn back now.

Maybe it was only youth, and immaturity, that brought such confusion. In a few years, she would feel differently, learned more, settled into a vocation, and this tumult of emotion and longing would be a distant memory. Legolas would not occupy her thoughts, and her heart.

She tried to convince herself of these things, but her heart was not fooled.

Silverstar put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

__

'You force yourself, Emer. You try to push away your emotions.' Silverstar chuckled again. _'A healer should not ignore or lock up an emotion. One should accept it. Child, I have lived long enough to know when someone locks their emotions.'_ Silverstar's glaring face turned quickly into amusement. _'I believe you have healed quite a bit since then. Do not let your guard down, however. It shall be hard. Now, another lesson. This is for yourself, but not delving into your own heart. It is called 'blocking,' which you are awful at.'_ Silverstar smiled. _'Most are. This is to protect your mind from those who are sensitive to mind-reading . . . like me. Do not look at me like that. I was not reading them; you were projecting them like an arrow. I'm also an empath, so I can feel your pain, even now. I shan't tell anyone of your thoughts or feelings. Now, to create a block . . .'_ Silverstar became silent, and quietly, like the way of the Mages, showed her through the mind, how to create barriers to thoughts and emotions. _'Emer. I must tell you that I doubt that it shall stop the Dark Lord. He has other ways of communicating with you. However, it is important to a healer to learn how to block certain emotions and thoughts. When healing, if you are distraught, then that can leak into your patients if you link to heal the mind. You must learn to block out some thoughts, while allowing others. With empathy, it is important to learn this as well, for one can get lost in other's emotions if they are strong enough. You do not wish to be a vegetable, I presume? Oh, stop laughing. For now, I keep my barriers mostly down. I can feel the pain with all here. You may, if you wish, put your barriers up. I shan't feel offended at all. That does not mean that you may keep them up, though. There are times when I will show you how to link to others, combine powers, and so on. That will require you to remove some of your defenses. Do you understand?'_

~*~

Arwen strolled among the ranks; nearly everyone was carrying something: lorebooks, works of art, musical instruments. The treasures of Rivendell, most of which had been saved. A lone Elf plucked at a lute nearby. "I cannot get this lute to play out of the minor, it wants to weep," he said to her.

"It weeps for what was lost," she replied, and his eyes echoed her sentiment. "Play on! Let our grief ring out, let us hold up our heads. We are not defeated." He began to play again, a plaintive melody that stirred their hearts. Khazad-dum loomed ahead, and they bore to the southeast.

Arwen caught herself watching Emer, one of the youngest of their fellowship. She had seen the girl have some sort of bad turn. Arwen saw something familiar in Emer's expressive eyes, though no words passed between them concerning it.

None were needed. Arwen knew heartbreak when she saw it. She rejoined her father, knowing by his lengthy strides they would walk through the night.


	28. Riddles

****

Chapter Twenty-eight

Riddles

The Lord of Mordor found Emer's indecision delicious. Now was the time she could be most easily swayed. Now that he knew what it was she wanted most, he could easily use it against her, and he intended to do so. Fate had stayed the execution of Legolas, who could still serve a purpose, it seemed.

Emer must be brought to him, for she had something he lacked, and he would take it from her, personally. Legolas would be the bait, to draw her in. Once she was in Mordor, he would use her ability, and make her his concubine. Such a one as she would be well suited for just such a duty, once she had turned completely.

His eye he set now upon Legolas, whose intent was entirely focused elsewhere. Intathin was content to watch for now, enjoying the game. A great weariness began to fall heavily on Legolas, and when he slept Intathin would give him dreams, dreams of delight, and longing, longing that would not be denied, a deep seated need to seek and find the one who sought him. Confusion he would weave, uncertainty, for such things ran in the Dark One's veins, and were inherent in him.

He watched, too, the path of the Arkenstone over the Pass into Eriador, and the Silmaril making it's way to Lothlorien, and the lesser Anachron still in the Mage Lunea's care.

All things were known to him, and he watched, his laughter cracking the earth, making it bleed.

~*~

Deagol loped along beside Legolas, taunting him.

"No answer to Deagol's riddle, mighty Elf? Deagol has fooled you, fooled you all, soon we will have back what was taken from us, oh yess, and the Elveses will call us master!"

Deagol drew back, not only from the Elf's piercing eyes, but from the eye that now rested on the Elf.

Could the Elf not feel it?

Lunea flew beside her companions, grim at face. 

"I have a riddle for you, Deagol. A wave, greater than all upon this world or any other, that can destroy great cities, and bring the strongest down on their knees. It confuses, yet unifies. It is clear, yet dark. It is unseen, yet felt. What am I, Deagol?"

The creature cocked its head to the side. Lunea sighed.

"I knew you wouldn't get it . . . probably not in a long time. It's something you haven't experienced for years. It's love, Deagol. I hate riddles." Lunea flew on to Draco without another word to the creature.

Ayala rode beside Legolas and listened to Lunea's riddle. She put a hand on Legolas' shoulder. 

"Is something wrong? Tell me what is bothering you, Legolas. You seem . . . tired."

"Silence!" Legolas cried, and Deagol careened away, tearing off into the woods. Legolas stifled a yawn. He had never felt such exhaustion, as if he had been long ill and was trying to recover. All was a sickly grey to his eyes, and the rhythmic motion of the horse lulled him.

Dawn had broken, bright and still, and the warmth made even heavier his eyelids. Sleep stole away with him and he was plunged from his horse and flung to the ground as if by an unseen hand.

He was standing by the River Running. The deep silence of late afternoon lay over the land, and the surface of the water was like molten glass, in eternal motion.

In the middle of the river, a boat floated like a small swan, swept along like a hapless leaf trapped in the current. In the tiny boat an Elven woman sat, her hands gripping the sides. The sun shone off her russet hair, and Legolas recognized her as Emer, one of the Elves of Mirkwood who had been present at Rivendell before the companies departed. He did not know her well, having shared only a few words with her. She was very beautiful, with large luminous eyes.

She was screaming now, her arms outstretched. There was a fall of great water ahead, Legolas could hear its echoing roar. He ran along the riverbanks, leaping over the corpses of fallen trees and flung a silver rope to her. She caught it and he tied the other end to an oak while he hauled on the line, pulling the boat up to the bank. He took her hand, helping her out. She smiled at him in a beguiling way. "I knew you would come," she whispered. "You would not let me die." She wound her arms around his neck.

He pushed her gently away. "I am betrothed to another, you may not touch me so."

She did not hear him, and tightened her grip, and he was lost when her lips met his, and somewhere nearby came a great singing, and the lilting strains of a harp, which rose and fell like an enchantment.

"Ayala, I will not betray you," he cried out in thought. Emer's hair ran like water through his fingers.

"I knew you would come to me," she said again, releasing him.

The last three words echoed over and over, and Emer led him away into the woods, to the old trees which blocked all light until he knew only darkness.

~*~

Ayala jumped down from her horse swiftly, and knelt next to Legolas. She did not touch him. Something, she felt, was not quite right. 

"Legolas . . ." she whispered, as tears she did not understand fell down her face. "Legolas . . . you would not . . . betray me . . . would you . . .?"

Lunea watched the two in silence.

Had none touched him when he wandered so, spirit-lost, forever he might have wandered, in the kingdom of dream. Emer stood before him now, robed as a queen, a great scepter in her hand. He was drawn to her, to her essence, her need, as though their destinies had been bound together by some invisible cord, which grew ever tighter. His blood grew hot when she touched him, and he knew wanting, until a cooler hand prevailed.

It was the instinct and wisdom of the beast which called him back, Loiosh, landing softly beside him, licking his face. Ayala looked down from above, the sight of her face more dear to him than ever before. He reached for her.

"Leave us," he rasped to the others, and they withdrew, but for Loiosh and Lunea, who sensed that he wanted them to remain.

Words spilled from him, and he told Ayala every part of his dream, though it shamed him to do so, and still he burned with longing for Emer though he loved Ayala no less.

"I will not betray you," he exclaimed, holding her close to him, vowing not to think of Emer, pushing her memory away.

"Perhaps she is some sort of Enchantress," Legolas reasoned as the clear day filled his senses and the dream began to fade somewhat. "Or the work of someone else, he who seeks what he will never know. Perhaps I have taken ill." He wanted desperately to explain away all that had just occurred and found himself left only with more confusion. He kept Emer steadfastly from his thoughts, thinking only of Ayala now, and the road ahead. He said nothing more, for he had no answers.

"Or perhaps," started Lunea. "Emer is a woman in love."

Ayala looked at Lunea, but said nothing. Her mind was confused over Legolas' words. They made her ill, but she showed none of this to the others. 

"In the end, Legolas, it shall not be any of us, including Ayala, who saves you from wrong," said Lunea harshly. "It shall be yourself, and only yourself. I told Vlad that others can guide him, that it is him who chooses the path in the end. This is not different for Elves. Remember that. I also wish to remind you that it was Vlad who saved you first, before any of us. I believe you owe him a little respect then you've been giving him."

Lunea turned away. Loiosh flew up and landed on Vlad's shoulder, who was out of hearing. 

Ayala tried to look at Legolas, but could not. Instead, she stared at the ground. "I believe she might be right," said Ayala softly. "I can try to help, but you will be the one who . . . will have to choose your path, just like the rest of us . . ." Ayala's eyes flicked to Legolas, then looked away. "Legolas . . . whatever you choose, I shall . . . respect that." She stood, silent, and helped him up. She then walked to Vlad. "How are you, Vlad? I am afraid I have had much on my mind and then the battle . . ."

"Never mind that," said Vlad. "This whole trip isn't exactly a piece of cake. I'm fine . . . except for the throbbing pain in my head. I think the Dark Lord hates me." Vlad smiled. "I wonder why."

~*~

Legolas stared after her. He would have no help or understanding from any of them, he supposed. Perhaps he could expect none, for how could they understand what he did not himself?

And Lunea thought to lecture him as though he were a recalcitrant child. He had been honest with Ayala, more than this he could not do. And now she would not look at him, and there seemed a huge chasm between them.

If this Emer was some sort of enchantress, Legolas would take his own vengeance on her one day. Elves put great store in the symbolism of their dreams, and well this Emer would know it, whoever she was. He had done no wrong, why did it feel as though he had already betrayed Ayala, and lain with another?

He mounted again, his posture quiet and still as stone. He must find some way to repair the rift between himself and Ayala. If her trust in him was cracked, he knew well that crack could grow until an ocean lay between them. He remained silent as they continued on, most of the company trying to cheer Vlad. Legolas offered Vlad a quiet look of empathy and retreated into his own thoughts.


	29. Flight Into Mordor Interception

****

Chapter Twenty-nine

Flight into Mordor. Interception.

Geharion soared over the Anduin, and Ithilien. Soon he would pass over Ephel Duath and into the Black Land. He dove to quench his thirst, soon there would be no fresh water. He snared a squirrel and ate hungrily, and drank again, cooling his wings. An ominous silence lay over the land.

He rose, and lit in a treetop, under cover in its thick branches, and watched, soon to see the reason for the eerie silence. It would not have been visible to any but one of enhanced eyesight such as his. The feeling of evil would escape none.

Far in the distance, a mere blot on the horizon, a dark stain rose. A Nazgûl. Winged terror, slave of the Dark Lord. All sound seemed to have ceased, except the endless race of the river below back to the Sea. Geharion struck the air with his wings when the Nazgul screamed, it was barely audible but still enough to freeze even the blood of the most courageous.

Many things had gone with the Third Age. The terrors that Sauron had created appeared to remain, resurrected by his heir. Despite the distance Geharion could still see that this Nazgul was far larger than his predecessors, and his skill of flight also far greater. Geharion's eyes were steely as he waited and watched. He would not take to the air again now until long after the sun had set. Even darkness would not protect him.

~*~

Geharion soared over the Ephel Duath and into Mordor. The darkness was heavy and palpable, and the air fetid. He dove, seeking. There were great fissures in the earth, from which a great stench rose, and great rumblings in the distance, the likes of which set every nerve on edge.

Flying became perilous, he must rely on the strength of his wings now, there were no currents or thermals to ride, the very air seemed misused, twisted. In the distance, though far nearer this time, the wraith screamed again. There was nowhere to hide. Geharion flew on, towards Minas Morgul.

~*~

Intathin set the Nazgul on the Eagle the very moment it crossed the border into his land. He watched delighted as the wraith shot forward on powerful wings, and snapped the eagle up in its armored jaws, like a hawk plucking a sparrow from the air.

__

Bring him to me.

The Nazgúl sped toward Minas Morgul, its catch writhing. Intathin turned his gaze to the Council of the Wise. Exacting revenge on them would be the sweetest of all victories. He savored the anticipation of their reaction, when his true self was known to them at last . . .

They would wish they had treated him with more respect in the past . . .

Intathin toyed with the Elf, Silverberry. He chuckled at the resistance of Emer and Legolas, whose most base cravings he had brought to the fore. Such satisfying pawns they all were. The game had only just begun.

~*~

Geharion put up little resistance, struggling would cause the Nazgul to tighten its grip and rend his flesh. One wing was broken. The Dark Tower came into his line of vision, growing large as they sped towards it.


	30. First Watch

****

Chapter Thirty

First Watch

The company marched on most of the day, and in early evening could go no further. Legolas took the first watch, and had no intention of waking anyone for the second, wanting no more dreams thrust upon him.

He paced around the camp, taking comfort in the old routine of the watch. Listening, moving without sound. Deagol came and went, and knew that Legolas saw him.

He thought of Rivendell, now gone, and the one night he had shared there with Ayala. He thought of how he had loved her from the moment he first saw her, so long ago, in Mirkwood. These things were possible, he had experience it himself. Perhaps it was the same for Emer.

He dissected his memory of Emer in Rivendell. He had asked after her brother, an old comrade of his. He had wished her well on the quest with Lady Evenstar. He had said nothing out of line.

She had replied kindly, looking up at him, smiling. She was young and troubled, he had thought, but kind and forthright. He had thought no more about it, only noticing her beauty at the time, as anyone would.

There was nothing in his memory of her that would indicate she wished him ill, but he knew better than to trust in memory alone, or even instinct, where the Dark Lord was concerned. He put Emer out of his mind, only to have fragments of the dream pry their way into his thoughts. He paced on, watching, and tried to think of other things.

"Hello," said Vlad to Legolas softly, so as not to wake up anyone. He did not flinch as he saw Legolas ready to shoot him. "How can you stay up like this? Aren't you tired at all? Nevermind. You Elves are weird." Vlad sat down nearby, carefully without any indication of a fight. His face was white, nearly transparent.

"I noticed you've been having some problems with your girlfriend. Sorry. I know how that feels. Had some problems with my own wife . . ."

Loiosh laid down on Vlad's shoulder and closed his eyes, while Rocza took residence on his knees. 

"Oh well," said Vlad with false joy. "That's life. Yeah. Who am I kidding? Everyone I know realizes that I hate being away, always on the run . . . Verra knows what's going on back home. Can't go back, though. But I don't think that's the same with you two. Anyone with eyes can see that you two love each other. It'll work out. Well, I guess I had better go to sleep now." Vlad stood, pretending to be good mood. "G'night."

Vlad walked to his spot and looked at it, then walked a bit away.

__

:Boss . . . aren't you going to sleep?:

:I don't feel really tired.:

:What was that all about?:

:What? The talk? Trying to save my head.:

:Heh. Looked like he almost shot you several times.:

:Yeah. This Dark Lord guy is trying to take over everyone's lives. It doesn't feel right.:

:Going to try to save the Teckla, boss?:

:I wouldn't put it that way. They're not exactly Teckla . . . or teckla, Loiosh.:

:I could use some teckla, boss. But why don't you just go after the guy when you got the chance?:

:That's what I'm going to do, Loiosh . . . if I get the chance.:

Vlad took out a dagger and began to flip it.

~*~

Ayala sat up. _This is foolish_, she said to herself. _I should be there to help Legolas down his path, not force him away._ She stood up and walked over to Legolas, still at watch.

"It must be boring staying here all night."

Legolas looked at her. She met his gaze.

"I am sorry, beloved," she said. "Lovers should talk, not push each other away." She sat down next to him. "When you told me your dream, so many emotions ran through me. I was angry, sad, hurt . . . it was foolish of me, like a little child." Her voice caught, and she swallowed, trying to keep back tears. "I want to be with you, Legolas. The idea that someone could take you away hurt me. That was selfish of me. I should wish the best for you, and if Emer is better, then . . ." She paused, then coughed. "Then you should be with her. You deserve only the best . . . and I think that she does love you. Elves do not dream for nothing. I mean . . . what I am trying to say is . . . if I could stop my senseless babble . . ." Ayala wiped a tear from her face quickly. ". . . I love you . . ."

"Oh, Ayala," he whispered, stroking her face tenderly. "I love you too. I will keep no secrets from you, it is why I told you about the dream. As you said, Elves do not dream without reason. Only another Elf could understand. You are the least selfish person I have ever met. No one is taking me from you, long I waited to see you again, and thought never I would, I feared you had gone over the Sea . . ."

He kissed her then without reserve. "Emer is young, and beautiful. If she has such feelings for me, she gave no indication at Rivendell. If she reaches out to me now, in love, then my heart breaks for her, for when I pledged you my troth, those words I did not just say, but meant. It was disturbing to me, the way I wanted her, and I am ashamed of it, but that dream was no making of my own mind, but came from the mind of another. I know so little of her."

His eyes widened as he remembered where he had met Emer before, she had barely passed into womanhood, it was a great festival and council in Fangorn. He told this to Ayala.

"Perhaps it was then, that she came to love you."

"Perhaps," he answered. "I have not thought of that time in many years. Those were days of peace, when seasons flowed together untroubled."

Memories came flowing back, and he saw himself sitting with Emer beneath a great willow. She had asked him about the Ringbearers, and the land of Mordor. Her beauty then had been like the white flame of the candle, leaping forth at it's beginning. Now she was like the white new moon, clothed in shadow, and silver.

And Ayala, Ayala was like the first morning of summer, when promise hung tangible in the air, golden and dazzling and fair beyond measure.

"You are beautiful, Ayala," he said softly. "And more than I deserve, I was breathless when you accepted my troth, I thought I would never see you again. I am yours, forgive me."

He kissed her again, and held her close to him, so she could feel the beating of his heart.

~*~

Sil was troubled by dreams that night and soon she woke up, piercing the night with her scream. Then she looked to Elbereth and in the starlight it could be seen that her face was streaming with tears. 

"Glamdring," she whispered, "why must he send me that dream? The Dark Lord's arm has grown far indeed if he can show me LeafRunner," her voice cracked. "All these years with only you and Mir . . . I miss . . . love . . ." Sil buried her face into Glam's mane and sobbed quietly.

~*~

Marigold woke, hearing the soft voices of the Elves. She smiled, seeing Legolas kiss Ayala.

They had made up their quarrel, and Marigold was glad. Those were two who should never be apart.

Marigold wasn't exactly sure what had gone on between them, and she hadn't the cheek to ask. As long as they were happily back together.

She looked over at Draco beside her. He looked pale and tired. She pulled his cloak up around his shoulders. He stirred a bit but didn't wake.

She kissed his cheek, got up and stoked the fire, and boiled water for tea and began making the breakfast. 

She brought some tea to Vlad. "You look like you could do with a cup of this. I put some herbs in, they're great for headaches. Are you all right?"

She felt his forehead. He laughed.

"I'm a bit of a hen this morning, aren't I," she said, laughing with him. "It's just that, well, we've come through so much already, and we will go through a lot more together, all of us, and well we're sort of a family now, and I'm sick with worry over my mother and all, and the Shire, Orcs in the Shire, would you credit that, I can't imagine, I reckon the shirriffs had the times of their lives chasing them off."

Marigold called to Silverberry, and made her some tea, still chattering.

Sil looked up and wiped the tears from her face on her sleeve. She nodded to Mari and tried to hide the tears streaming down her face as she looked at the couples of lovers. Then she stood. "Thank you for the tea Mari. If you will excuse me I would like to get some of this blood and dirt off me." 

Then she took her leave of the others and listened until she found the stream she heard. There she stripped down and dove into the crystal clear water. She felt better and the heartbreak subsided as the wonderful cold water enveloped her body. 

Then a noise in the thicket startled her and the ring on her finger fell off into the water. When she saw Glam emerging through the trees she relaxed until she noticed the ring was gone. She stifled a scream as she swam to the bottom searching. Then a bright flash of silver caught her eye and she retrieved the ring. As she swam in the cold water she told Glam to keep watch and warn her if the others left. As she lay on a rock she wondered what the future would hold and what would happen to her in the Dark Lord found out her weakness. And what of the two lights she bore? What of Lorien? As she pondered these questions she closed her eyes and as the sun warmed her body she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.


	31. More Strange Arrivals

****

Chapter Thirty-one

More Strange Arrivals

Everyone sat talking merrily around the fire. Draco sat down and ate with them. Their food supplies were beginning to dwindle, they would have to hunt soon. So far there had been an ample supply of fresh water, as they drew closer to Mordor it would become much harder to find. Draco ate little, thinking of Syntoc and wondering where he was now, and where the Council would meet. With a lot of hard work one day he might sit with the Council himself. It seemed very out of reach on this summer morning, he felt very young, and unskilled, remembering the Wargs of yesterday.

As soon as they were done, Marigold asked where Silverberry was.

Draco whistled for Sil's horse, and heard him nickering down by the stream. Draco saved out a bit of the breakfast for Sil before they began packing up their things. Legolas looked tired.

"You were supposed to wake me for the watch," said Draco. Legolas just smiled.

Lunea stood up after breakfast and stretched. 

"That was good! Cheer up, Draco!" she said, slapping Draco in the back with amazing strength. "Acting depressed doesn't seem to suit you! Right, Mari-chan?!" She laughed, but suddenly became sober. "Someone's watching . . ."

Everyone stopped what they were doing for several seconds, reaching for weapons. 

"Enemies so soon . . . such stealth is not like Orcs," whispered Ayala to Legolas.

"That is because we are not Orcs, Lady Elf," said a voice above them. Ayala aimed her bow.

"Don't shoot!" cried Lunea. "I know that voice."

Two figures jumped down from the trees. Their hair was black as a night without the moon, their eyes blue, almost white, Their skin, a creme color, smooth and flawless. They wore cloaks of gray over their matching colored tunics and pants and soft black shoes. The only thing that told the two apart was the diamond symbols upon their foreheads, one tan, one green. They bowed low to everyone.

"Greetings," the one with the tan diamond said. "I am Ierik."

"I am Jonathan," said the other.

"Nonsense," said Lunea. "John will do just fine."

"Really? That does not sound very . . ."

"You know what I'd say to that, John?" the girl asked.

"Hmmm . . . most likely something like 'hogwash.' Trailer-park."

"Shut up."

"Yes, ma'am."

The group stood in shock as the two exchanged these strange words. 

Ierik laughed. "That's enough," he said. "Time is short and we should be moving now. Quickly. The Dark Lord does not wait as we discuss petty things."

"But . . ." started Ayala, slightly confused. "Who are you?"

"What? We are Mages," said John. "Can you not tell?"

"John, you speak rudely to a lady. It is not common for these people to meet Mages. They have only seen two, I believe. Forgive me. I am the Mage of Animal Life. I can communicate with those who are not able to speak as we do and others."

"And I, fair lady, am the Mage of Plant Life."

"And you talk to vegetables," said Lunea laughing. She ducked gracefully as a rock flew towards her.

"Such manners, that one," said John, a smile lighting his face.

"Come," said Ierik. "We can discuss other things as we travel. It is not safe for you to stay here any longer . . ."

Legolas still held an arrow, his brow furrowed.

__

I do not like this, he thought. _Too many have come from other realms. The Anachron is not whole, how are they coming here, and why? They know much of us, yet we know nothing of them, which gives them all the advantage, they speak little of their pasts, except for Vlad who has shown his trust._ Legolas stepped closer to Ayala, his arm around her.

"There is more than one Anachron," he whispered so only she could hear. "If they know it's use, then so does the Dark Lord. The more they come, the more danger they bring, and we are drawn into it.

"We could bring armies, Ayala, vast armies, the likes of which the Dark Lord could never stand against."

Ayala backed away at the fervent look in his eyes.

Legolas did not notice. He was deep in thought, sorting out the way it could be done.

"Legolas," whispered Ayala softly. "What is wrong? You are not yourself lately. Talk to me, beloved. I shall listen, then we can discuss. Please . . ."

~*~

Lunea, Ierik, and John walked together, silently. _:They...do not trust us,:_ said Ierik telepathically to his two other companions. _:I can feel their tension . . .:_

:They are nervous because of the Dark Lord as well,: said his twin.

__

:There is not much to be done about that. Perhaps we can discuss it with them. I don't plan on it, unless they ask,: said Lunea.

She looked around at the others and shrugged. _:What I am truly worried about is the Dark Lord's next move . . . and how the others are. I hope they are all right. Did you say Sakura and Ghim went to find Pansy?:_

:Yes. Momo is with the other group, with Morrolan and the King Dwarf,: said John.

__

:Oh dear.:

:Yes. That's what I thought too. I wonder how they will take to her.:

:Like everyone else . . . worry and fear.:

Ierik and John laughed.


	32. Fulfillment

****

Chapter Thirty-two

The Field of Celebrant. No Escape for One. Fulfillment.

They came in the evening to the Field of Celebrant, under watchful stars and a gibbous moon. Emer stared up at it, knowing the company in which Legolas traveled was very near now. She wandered off unnoticed, and climbed like a cat through the wreaths of a tall pine until she reached the top. She breathed deeply, looking out across the night. The river Anduin leapt and chattered in the distance, the sound deepening her melancholy, echoing it.

She had almost told him, in Rivendell. She had been about to reach for his hand when Ayala appeared, and stood by his side, and Emer had seen their contentment and felt the gift of speech taken from her at that moment. 

__

I should have told him, she thought. _Then maybe I would not be in pieces now, if I had told him._

The trunk of the pine felt like a strong shoulder against her, and she took comfort from it, grateful that no one saw her when she wept. When she regained her composure she climbed back down, ambling slowly around the encampment, finally finding a place where she could lay alone and wakeful, watching the moon.

~*~

Elves . . . how he hated them. Their innate sense of honor, their beauty, their connection to the lands and the turnings of the seasons, and most of all the sweetness of their voices, and hearts . . .

Intathin watched the two he had worked to draw inexorably together. They would have come together in spite of his handiwork, it was an inevitability. But only he knew of the precious gift that would come from their joining. When Emer slept, Intathin brought his will to bear on Legolas, showing him what Emer would give him, knowing this gift would be the holy grail to Legolas, he would not be able to turn away, once he had laid eyes upon it . . .

There were many ways of meeting, and touching, many roads not seen to most eyes, but beheld by few and well trod by some, and these were the paths of dream, and of vision. Intathin knew them well, he had lain with many women in the guise of dreams, and to some he had given visions, waking dreams.

To Emer, he gave a dream, and whispered, his voice like silk.

"Bring the Silmaril to me, and all this I will give you, I will bring him to you . . ."

The uncertainty of Legolas opened the ways into his mind, and Intathin brought Emer before him, in waking vision, for he did not sleep. She was fair beyond reckoning, the wind pushing the hair from her face, her eyes alit.

And to Emer, Legolas was strength personified, life-giver . . .

Emer held in her arms a small bundle, swaddled in green. Gently she uncovered the tiny face.

"Our son, Luthan," she said, barely above a whisper, ringing with boundless happiness. Legolas gazed, incredulous, as she held this precious gift, passing the child to him.

Intathin saw many banners unfurled, and the tumult that came before peace, for this child was destined to be King of all the lands, the Elven King spoken of in the misty dawn of history, the legend incarnate . . .

And Intathin would take this boy under his wing, and command his destiny for the good of Mordor.

And before the moon waxed from the full, Luthan would be conceived . . .

The Dark Lord laughed.

~*~

More hateful Elves, and Wizards. Deagol was dismayed, until he saw the opportunity it created.

No one was paying any attention to him, all the nasty Elves were chattering, except Legolas, wicked Legolas, who was very quiet in the saddle, his eyes fierce no longer, for what he watched no one else could see.

His chance had come, and the Hobbit girl never saw as he with one great leap snatched the great Dragonfly from the air, and ran off into the fields to eat it.

It shrieked, at first, so he had to kill it quickly to silence it, before he ate it. It was crunchy, and the lovely wings tasted sweet, so he licked his fingers afterward, staying a ways from the company, but still following, his hunger abated now. He snickered at his cleverness. 

~*~

As they stopped for the night Sil was worried. What dreams would she be tormented with? As she untacked Glam and let him loose she wandered into the woods. Eventually she found she was far from the group and she sat down on a rock and, at last, she could let the tears fall, let the pain wash away. But she knew that when she closed her eyes the Dark Lord would bring it all back. 

She lifted her hand and let the light of the ring shine into the darkness. No, Nenya was too precious to let anything happen. It dawned on her why Galadriel gave it to her, she knew. It wasn't a ring of power, just a trinket of the Elven smiths, strong but not as strong as the three, but Nenya made up for it. Yes, if the Dark Lord knew her aunt had given it to her right before she left, he would be after it. She knew naught of the other Simarils but hoped they were not in his possession. When she lowered her hand she had a glimmer of hope. 

Sil closed her eyes and there it was again, the scene of his death. "No," she cried and sobbed quietly hoping no one would find her when she heard a crack of a twig. "Who is there?" she asked, picking up Aglar.

"It is only me," answered Legolas. "I am sorry to have disturbed you." He ducked away, hearing what he was looking for, and wishing no conversation with anyone. He dashed toward the sound of the horse, making no sound himself, until he was sure he was out of Silverberry's range of hearing.

He approached the horse, Silverberry's horse, carefully. "Easy," he said softly in a low voice as the horse reared its head in alarm.

"Easy," he whispered, stroking it's nose. This horse was far swifter than any the company rode, iron-flanked. It champed as he mounted in one fleet movement.

"I will send you back to your lady, it is haste I need now," he whispered to the horse, and clutching it's mane he tore off into the night like an arrow. If Silverberry heard and whistled after the horse he heard it not, he heard nothing but the rush of his own heart and the pounding hooves of the horse.

He spurred the horse to greater speed, and the moonlight burned on the horse's mane like liquid silver. He was unaware of the passage of hours as the stars wheeled overhead and the moon poured down it's white fire, lighting his way, straight toward the Field of Celebrant.

There, far from the eyes of Arwen's company, Emer waited, in a quiet meadow ringed by trees, in a circle of moonlight she stood. He jumped from the horse, bidding it return to it's true rider, and it whinnied, ducking it's head before turning and vanishing into the night.

He seized her by the wrists, drawing her close. She was robed in green, a girdle of silver leaves at her waist, a silver garland of leaves shining in her hair.

"Why, Emer, why do you torment me so, why do you ask from me what I cannot give you? Sorceress . . ."

She brought her fingertips to his lips, to silence him. Her touch was electric, and desire rose in him to possess her, to bring forth what she had promised in his vision.

Had she not touched him so, the course of his life might not have been altered as it was, but it was too late. He could not turn his back on what would come, on Luthan, Luthan who had held his smallest finger in one tiny fist, a son, his son.

"I do not seek to torment you," she answered in a sultry voice. "I love you."

"Witch," he hissed, bringing her to him in one motion. He buried his hands in her hair, and all his need was in the way he kissed her, his pulse hammering in his head like the beating of war drums.

He knew nothing more after that kiss, nothing but her, her firm flesh under his hands and lips, her pleasured sighs, the scent of her hair like the rain of summer in the deep forest, and always her eyes, like dark emeralds, shining up at him.

At last, at last, she was in his arms, where she belonged. He knew it too, as he held her close to his heart. She reached up to kiss him, lingering, surely she was still dreaming, she had never felt such happiness.

They were one now, really one, and she smiled as she felt a tingling, sudden warmth in her abdomen, and knew she had conceived a child. 

"I love you, Legolas," she whispered. "I have always loved you." His hands moved in her hair again, leaving trails of fire where they touched her. Softly she seduced him again, and again, and she prayed the sun would never rise and this night never end, and that they would stay like this, locked in each others arms until the world passed out of existence.


	33. Waiting

****

Chapter Thirty-three

Waiting

Ayala stood up and watched as Legolas went away, silent.

"I'm sorry, Ayala," said a voice. Ayala turned around to see Lunea and Vlad watching her. Her heart pounded in her chest.

"Why . . .?" the Elf asked, then stopped, her throat completely dry.

"I'm sorry," repeated the Mage.

The slow pain in Ayala's chest increased.

"Sit down," said Vlad.

Ayala followed his orders before her head began to spin. "It hurts," said Ayala, her voice weak, her body shaking violently. "I cannot . . . why . . .?"

"I don't know, Ayala. I'm sorry. Vlad and I will watch over you. Your nerves are shot . . ."

Ayala began to sob. Ierik and John came towards them and sat down nearby. Vlad came closer to the group.

"I hate him!" the Elf cried. "No . . . I . . . I . . ."

"A natural reaction . . ." whispered Ierik.

"Your knife," Ayala whispered after she had cried a good deal. John drew his knife and handed it to her. She slashed the wrist of her left hand, her bow hand, in a way that would not kill her. She did not cry out in pain. She wrapped in quickly in cloth, letting the blood soak through. "I have a scar now . . . what shall they say? Shall it ever heal?"

"What nonsense," said Lunea. "Of course you will heal. Men are idiots. Did I not tell you that before?"

Ayala laughed weakly. "Yes, you did."

Ayala stood up suddenly, her face become hard, her eyes distant. She removed the circlet from her head and looked at it. "Beauty is nothing, for the future shall destroy the very bonds that were created," said Ayala clearly and strongly. "In a moment, you betrayed me, the trust that I had put in you!" In a swift movement, the circlet was broken.

"Well done," said Ierik. "So the past is broken. Be strong, Ayala! The future still has hope! Though you are still in pain, that pain may go, and you may be reunited with Legolas in the end, and your circlet shall be reforged."

"I still think it shall work out," said Vlad suddenly. "That's what I said to Legolas."

"Thank you, all of you. I told Legolas that I believed you were good. I was not wrong. I hope that Legolas still loves me, for I still love him . . ."

"Naturally. You've loved him for years . . ."

"Good night, Ayala. Keep strong!"

"Good night, everyone." Ayala put the broken pieces of the circlet in her bag, then waited for Legolas to return. She slipped on a shirt that Lunea left for her, a tag on the high collar with a snake twisting up a branch. Her wrist throbbed in pain . . .

Ayala waited quietly. She knew what the pain in her heart meant and she wept.

__

No one . . . she thought. _No one loves me._

:But I do,: said a voice into her mind, soft and soothing. 

Ayala raised her red eyes and in front of her was a beautiful, white horse, it's eyes silver and full of love.

__

:I love you, Chosen, and when the one you loved returns to try and heal the gap in your heart, I shall be there for you.:

Ayala stood up, shaking again. _:What are you?:_ she asked, touching the horse.

__

:I am a Companion. A person who is reborn into the body of a horse to find those of pure hearts and to become their . . . familiars, would be the closest word. I will never leave you, Chosen.:

Ayala clung to the horse and cried. 

"Oh," said Lunea sleepily. "It's a . . ." She looked from the Companion to the Elf, her eyes widening. "It's a . . ."

__

:I'm a Companion, Mage.:

:Oh yes. Thank you. Waitaminute!! Did you say . . . nevermind.:

Ayala laughed a little weakly, but a true laugh, and wiped her eyes. 

"I thought I felt something," said Lunea. "A Companion. I'm happy for you, Ayala. A Companion and their Chosen have a special bond that no other creature could have. She, I believe you are a she, will help you heal."

The Companion made a noise that sounded like a laugh, and for an instant, there appeared to be a lady. The image disappeared quickly.

__

:The bond is weak right now, Ayala. When it is stronger, we shall be able to talk to each other much easier. And only to each other. I cannot talk to others like I will be able to with you.:

Lunea walked away, oblivious to the conversation.

__

:But you can talk to others?:

:Through normal telepathy, like with the Mage. Come now, Chosen. It is time for bed. You are weak at heart and body. When you awaken, the one who betrayed you shall return.:

:Truly?:

:Yes. Though he has been with another, I believe he still loves you. I can feel your bond with him.:

:I only hope you are correct.:

:Sleep,: said the Companion.

Disclaimer: Companions are from a series of books by Mercedes Lackey. I think some of the facts about the Mages might also be from that series, but I am not entirely sure. Once again, this is because I am only doing a novelization, and did not write all of this fanfiction story myself.


	34. The Morning After

****

Chapter Thirty-four

The Morning After

Emer woke, finding his arms still around her, and smiled secretively. It was no dream, he was still here. She didn't want to wake him, but she must.

She still carried the Green Silmaril, for she had brought it from Mirkwood. They would come looking for her soon, because of it. They trusted her.

Her fingers fluttered protectively over her abdomen. Intathin had done what he had promised, and so must she.

She ran her fingers through his hair, kissing him, until he stirred, reaching for her.

"No, we cannot, we must go, now." They rose, and dressed. Emer looked into her bag. The Silmaril was still there, untouched.

Legolas was staring at her, many things in his eyes. She knew he thought of the way he had betrayed Ayala. She reached for him now. "She will heal," Emer whispered, and drew his hand to her abdomen. "I am with child, our child, and I love you far more than she could comprehend, I need you."

Emer had been chaste, until last night, and he was very aware of it. They must not be parted now, after all they had just shared.

There was nothing for either of them to go back to now. Legolas had betrayed Ayala, and Emer had broken her trust with Silverstar, and now she must take the Silmaril to Mordor.

They left, quickly, and did not look back.

When they could run no longer, Legolas stopped her, holding her before him. Her beauty had been transfigured, and the blush of new life painted her face and eyes with a light that was undeniable. It stabbed at his vision like the morning sunlight, deepening his anguish over the way he had betrayed Ayala mindlessly. He wondered if Ayala had found the silver brooch he had left for her, the one he had worn at his throat all those years ago, given to him in Lorien by the Lady Galadriel. Ayala, beloved Ayala, who would never speak to him again, or look on him with anything but heartache, Ayala whom he loved in the very same way Emer loved him, Emer who stood before him now, looking up at him with such devotion, Emer who stirred in him an insatiable lust, a craving that could not be satisfied without touching her, taking her, and he did so now, heedless of the danger that followed, blind he would go now, where she led, to protect the new life she carried in her womb.

He cradled her in his arms afterward, this child, for so she was to him, who had lived long and seen much, this girl whose innocence he had taken heedlessly, and as she murmured words of love to him he could not say what was in his heart, he was a betrayer, oathbreaker, but he could not let her go now, she had wrapped herself around his heart, and he was trapped in her spell, and felt love for what she carried in her womb, and he laid his palm over where the child lay nestled in it's beginnings.

~*~

It was time to move on, and the large company moved as one, making ready to take to the road again. Lothlorien was closer, Arwen estimated they would reach it in two more marches, if they did not tarry overmuch. So, hearts were lightened much that morning until she received the news.

"Emer Halfelven cannot be counted among us," said one.

"She must be found, immediately," Arwen replied, a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. One so young as Emer should not have been permitted to carry the Simaril, no matter that she had borne it hence, too many hands were willing to take it from her, experienced hands, and Emer was exceedingly young and impressionable.

"Find the Mage, Silverstar, quickly," Arwen ordered, her eyes darting frantically, searching among thousands of Elven heads for Emer's chestnut mane of hair. Three others she sent to search the entire company.

~*~

It was Graybough who found them, for they had entered Fangorn. None but he would have seen them, for Elves may travel and leave no trace of their passage, not even a bent blade of grass to mark their path, if they are so inclined as these two were.

He stood in front of them, and they halted, hand in hand. He could bring no harm to them, especially to the girl, who would bear a child.

It is not the way of Ents to bring harm, and especially to Elves who had rescued them from dumbness long ago, and given them words and voice.

His voice was all he could use now, and he attempted to reason with them.

"You must turn back, and return to Arwen, or I will set the forest against you."

Emer drew the dagger from her boot and advanced on the Ent. He would not take Legolas from her, and returning to the Field of Celebrant with the Silmaril was out of the question now. Now, that everything she had ever wanted was within her grasp.

She raised the dagger, and fire danced along the edge of the blade, Intathin's fire. "Stay away from us," Emer spat, "or see Fangorn burn. Turn the forest against us at your own peril, Graybough, for I will not allow you to stand in our way."

She could hear Legolas screaming for her to stop as she brought the flaming blade up to the tip of one branch. Like Legolas, she was a Wood-Elf, and her own spirit screamed for her to stay her own hand, but she would not. The flame grew closer, and closer.

"Emer, NO!" cried Legolas, grabbing her wrist. He wrenched her arm down until the dagger slipped from her grasp, and fell harmlessly to the forest floor, only a dagger again.

Still holding her arm, he reached for Emer's pack and withdrew the silken bag at the bottom. He placed it in Graybough's gnarled hand.

"Take the Silmaril to Arwen," he uttered, "And allow us passage." Graybough swayed in silent reply, a mighty fist closing over the Silmaril.

Emer screamed in torment, driven to her knees.

She was slight and slender, Legolas could easily slip his hands around her waist. He picked her up, she was light as a willow wand.

"Put your arms around my neck," he whispered, and she clung to him.

"I knew you would not let me die," she mumbled, and his face drained of color at the sound of those words. He began to run, carrying her, as the wrath of Fangorn the ancient began to ebb. He remembered bitterly the words he had once spoken to Gimli here. _I could have been happy here, if things were different . . ._

Now they must run, and never stop, and find a place where the Lidless Eye could not see, to protect the child. Emer was still against him, her head tucked beneath his chin, and he ran like the wind.


	35. The Trial Forces of Darkness

****

Chapter Thirty-five

The Trial. Forces of Darkness.

Intathin seethed, both with grim pleasure and loss. The Silmaril had slipped from his fingers, as had Emer, besotted with Legolas, joyous at their union. He would let her have her moment, Legolas would shatter her himself, with the truth, and the child would come into his hands, the Elven King-to-be, and Inthathin would forge him into a weapon unlike any other.

For now, he turned his attention to the Great Eagle, Geharion, who had come without invitation into his Black Kingdom.

"Behold, the Eagle with a broken wing," he chuckled as the spy was brought before him.

Unlike Sauron before him, Intathin would dispatch his justice quickly.

"An example will be made of you," he rumbled. He snapped his fingers and the Lord of the Uruk-hai came before him, kneeling.

"Take him to the Nazgul. And there send the Wraith to the inner lands, where all can see the Eagle in its jaws, and let the warning go out, that the will of Mordor will not be thwarted, nor our borders breeched."

The Uruk-hai scurried off to do his bidding, taking the fallen Eagle with him.

"The Windlord will see his domain never again," Intathin laughed. "For I will bind his wings forever, and all of his kind, and all that is counted fair in Middle-Earth shall perish, until only Mordor remains, its borders stretching out to accomplish all . . ."

~*~

Kazushe sat back in his throne and sighed.

"Well done, Dark Lord," he said. "You have manipulated them rather well. The coming of the Circle shall be soon, and then I shall finally make a decision, to be with the Light or Dark. I wonder . . ."

Kazushe watched the companies. He felt the pain they all felt for different reasons, which no one else could sense.

"Now is the time for the trial," said Kazushe. "Let us see who will survive . . ."

"Only the strongest, Kazushe. The rest will falter and wither and die. Choose well."

Intathin left him far behind, his will traveling outward, spiraling down, to Khazad-dum.

Grool turned from his men to see a maiden before him. Golden haired, she stood, crooking a finger at him. When he drew near, she whispered, her voice velvet," The Dark Lord seeks to reward your loyalty. On the other side of the mountain, you will find a chest filled with many treasures and a Woman of Gondor, chained. A virgin for your pleasure."

The maiden disappeared as Grool grabbed for her, only smoke on the wind.

~*~

After loosing Pansy, Grool decided to go into the service of the Dark Lord. He gathered his troops and prepared to march. His soldiers carried his standard. It was a large, gold banner. On it was a large red eye. In the center of the eye was a "G" for Grool. Under the eye was a black mountain, which stood for the Misty Mountains. On either side of the eye, were an axe and a sword.

Grool looked through his chamber and the mountain for his amulet. He could not find it though. No matter. Grool and his Orcs set out for Mordor that day.

On his way to Mordor, Grool went to the other side of the mountain. He saw the treasure. He loaded it onto a horse. The virgin, he loaded onto his wolf. The maiden would bring him pleasure. He didn't know how, but she would . . .

Grool and his men proceeded into Mordor. They were not challenged because of their number. They swiftly made it Mordor and Grool burst into the chamber of the Dark Lord. Bending down on one knee, Grool said, "I am at your service, my Lord. I humbly offer my troops to your cause for only two things. First, I wish my men to carry my standard into battle. Second, I lost something very precious to me. It was a small amulet. I wish to know where it is."

Intathin said, "A Hobbit named Pansy Took stole it from you."

"Pansy! I will get that miserable Halfling if it's the last thing I do. Pansy must DIE!"

"Granted. You have served well. I give to you a troop of one thousand fighting Uruk-hai. More will follow. The virgin was my gift. Breed with her, for a new race must come, to strengthen our kingdom, the kingdom we will build when the war is over and order has been imposed on all the lands.

"As for the Halfling . . . I will bring her to justice, and what was stolen from you shall be returned.

"There are great forces moving in the North. They have not escaped my gaze.

"A great host of Elves moves now toward Lorien. Let them enter their forest, for they shall never leave it. Take your army thither. Depart on the morrow. Depart on the morrow. Surround Lothlorien, and let the standard of Mordor be flown all around it, until I decide to implement the next phase of my plans

"Go, now, loyal warrior, and fail me not."

"For the glory of Mordor!"

Grool chained the Gondoran Woman in his chamber and gathered his troops. The Uruk-hai carried the standard of Mordor while Grool's troops carried his standard. 

They rode by night, the Uruk-hai on black horses of Mordor and the Orcs on Wolves. 

The Uruk-hai hated their smaller relatives, but were forced to obey Grool.

They waited outside Lorien, by the River Anduin. When the Elves entered the woods, Lothlorien would be under siege.

While they waited, Grool had some of his Orcs breed with the Uruk-hai to create even stronger soldiers for Mordor . . .


	36. Morning

****

Chapter Thirty-six

Morning. Syntoc's Return.

Marigold was up early as usual, bustling around to get the breakfast ready before the others woke. While the water was coming to a boil, she walked around a bit, looking for Doireann. She called softly, but there was no answer. Mari hadn't seen her since last night, and she felt a deep pang of worry. Doireann was her oldest and dearest friend, and Mari didn't want to lose her now. Doireann was also her only link with home now.

Ayala appeared not to have slept at all, and Marigold wondered where Legolas had gone. She was about to say she had gotten enough water, in case Legolas was off fetching some, but Ayala's eyes told her to keep her questions to herself. Something was terribly wrong here.

Ayala relaxed a little. "I'm sorry, Mari. Something has happened that no one realized would. Legolas left. He had to . . . to be . . . to be with his child." Ayala wondered that the words came easier. She suddenly jumped up, startling the group. "Come on, everyone! It is a wonderful day! I have to show you someone . . ."

Ayala whistled and white horse trotted toward them. The Companion seemed to bow.

"This is my Companion, Tinviel," said Ayala happily. "She's come to help us!"

"Excellent!" exclaimed Ierik. His eyes had widened for an instant as the name was said. "It is a great honor to have you with us, fair lady!" he said to Companion. "You heal my heart . . ."

"And mine!" said John.

The Companion nodded her head.

"Well, the party has waxed and waned," said Lunea. "Shall we head off, Draco-leader? Let's go kick . . . err . . . let us go defeat the Dark Lord!"

"Ummm . . . do you mind finishing what you were going to say before?" asked Vlad.

A corner of Lunea's mouth twitched. "No. Let's eat and go! And keep your Jhereg away from my food."

The group looked up in time to see Syntoc walk up with a melancholy appearance. "Fate is not on our side. We must strive harder to defeat the Dark Lord." 

All present could see the look of desperation in the Wizard's eyes.

Draco swallowed hard, drawing Syntoc aside before they departed once again. Ayala was waited at the fore on her horse, her head held high, her eyes proud.

"Legolas has gone," said Draco. "I do not know why he left, or where he went."

Syntoc sighed heavily. "Great forces are at work, my boy, forces which will shake the universe. We must take care, extra care, not to fall into his trap, as we draw closer to Mordor. Many things may befall us before then. It grieves me to lose Legolas, for he knew the way we go now. We must let out strength of purpose be as a lantern unto our feet."

Draco agreed silently, and mounted his horse, Marigold in front. Marigold was worried sick about Doireann, who still had not returned, and there was Ayala, proud in the saddle with her heart cracking in two. Draco shook his head sadly, understanding none of it.

The Company began to move. At first, they were all silent. All seemed to be grieved for many different reasons.

Lunea flew silently beside Vlad, Ierik, and John and began to whisper to them. Ayala looked at them curiously, but said nothing. 

Ierik started to ride beside Ayala. "What did you say the name of your Companion is?" he asked.

"Tinviel . . . why?" 

Ierik shook his head and said nothing.

Ayala rode in silence for several seconds, then she felt someone near her. Vlad was riding beside her, making the oddest face that seemed very unlike him. Ayala suddenly broke out laughing. 

"Ha! I told you I could make her laugh," said Vlad with mock pride.

"What was that for?" asked Ayala, still giggling.

"Well, everything was so quiet, so we decided to see who could make you laugh," said John. "I could have done it better . . ."

Ierik slapped John on the back of the head.

"Thanks, everyone. I believe I needed that," said Ayala, now calm.

"We all needed to hear laughter," said Syntoc. 

"What did you find out from the Council?" asked Lunea. "Did you discuss the Joining of the Circle?"

Syntoc and Lunea began to talk quietly so no one would hear. 

"The Joining of the Circle?" asked Vlad.

"You'll find that out later," said John. "For now, let them talk about it. There's still some time before that . . ."

"And a long road," said Ayala, sighing. A song came into her head, suddenly. Softly she began to sing:

__

Wishing on a dream that seems far off.

Hoping it will come today.

Into the starlight night,

Foolish dreamers turn their gaze,

Waiting on a shooting star.

But, what if that star is not to come?

Will their dreams fade to nothing?

When the horizon darkens most,

We all need to believe there is hope.

Suddenly Ayala's voice rang out, silencing everyone and traveling far.

__

Is an angel watching closely over me?

Can there be a guiding light I've yet to see?

I know my heart should guide me, but,

There's a hole within my soul.

What will fill this emptiness inside of me?

Am I to be satisfied without knowing?

I wish, then, for a chance to see,

Now all I need, desperately

Is my star to come . . .

Ayala's voice faded away. It was only after the song ended that everyone realized that Lunea had sung the word 'desperately.' There was hope and sorrow in the song. 

__

How well it fits us all, thought Ayala. Something, Ayala thought, felt different to her, almost as if the party was closer . . . stronger . . . 

Marigold burst into tears as Ayala sang, sobbing until Draco had to hold her to keep her from falling off the horse. Lunea flew over.

"Mari, what's wrong?"

"How could Legolas just leave her like that? And how can she be so calm? And I can't find my Dragonfly anywhere, and that awful Deagol is always snuffling round, and the Dark Lord is rising in power just as I'm preparing to break into his house to burgle something, and . . ."

Marigold did fall from the horse, screaming. 

"Dragon! Dragon! Look out!"

Syntoc stopped, raising his hands to say they should halt.

"Not a Dragon. That is the Nazgul. Everyone, get down."

Marigold scrambled toward the bushes, the horses tore off screaming in terror. At the last second she uncovered her eyes, looking up, unable to look away again. Something struggled in the Nazgul's beak. it was an Eagle! She felt her blood stop in her veins with terror, and a nameless urge to scream again.

Disclaimer: I don't know where the song is from.


	37. Descent Into Eriador The Golden Horde

****

Chapter Thirty-seven

Descent into Eriador. The Golden Horde.

The way down from the Redhorn Pass was perilous, and they chose their way carefully. The climb down was filled with craggy outcroppings of rock, some that were stable and others that broke off and crashed down, flattening trees on the way, so that each step must be tested before it was taken.

As they neared the end of the descent, the vista of the plains opened out before them, and they saw a vast army gathered in wait. Bain plucked the massive war hammer from his belt and held it ready.

Edric was not at all unhappy when they were off the pass and solid ground was beneath their feet again. 

"Well, well," he muttered to himself. "So the legends are based in fact after all." Before him stood a Woman, primitive, and beautiful. A striking headdress, gauntleted wrists, with all manner of weapons within easy reach.

"So it is true. The Golden Horde does exist."

"As we have done for many years, Wise One. Speak now for your company or be struck down. Are you friend or foe, and what is your purpose in Eriador?"

Vanya's spear was already in her hand, her personal guard flanking her and Elodin, the Horde moving in to surround the strangers.

"Of the Wanderer, we know, the rest of you we do not. Speak, Wizard, or die." She lifted the spear, taking aim. She would not miss. She never missed. She had held a spear before she could walk. It was as much an extension of her as her own arm. It would hit him in the throat, before he could speak any words of magic.

"Take care who you threaten, Woman, for this is Edric the Golden of the Council of the Wise, and Bain Warhammer, King under the Mountain," Larz shouted. He would not be bullied by a bunch of Women, however well armed they were. He noticed there were Dwarves in this army, and Elves, and he thought he saw a Halfling but could not be sure.

Tension was rising rapidly between the Fellowship and the Golden Horde. If something was not done, there would be an unneeded battle between the two groups.

"Hold! All of you," exclaimed the Wanderer as he stepped in front of Edric, shielding the Wizard from the spear of the Horde's leader. "For one who claims to know of me, though I know you not, save the reputation of your group, you should know that I would not travel with servants of Mordor," he said to the leader of the Horde.

"The Dwarf speaks correctly. The one behind me is Edric the Golden; Wizard and member of the Council of the Wise . . . Though I shield him not for his sake, but for yours," he said to the Golden Horde. "It is not wise to threaten a Wizard with death. If he were truly evil, he could have destroyed you all in an instant."

"You all are also in the presence of royalty," he said motioning towards Bain. "This is Bain Warhammer, King Under the Mountain, as was said by his companion Larz Oakenshield. The last of us is Morrolan, a traveler from another realm, who will not cause any harm unless one of you tries to touch or take his sword."

"We are on a quest which I do not think we would be at liberty to speak of at the present moment. This quest is what has brought us here today, and it is pure coincidence that we encountered you."

There was a momentary silence. Nobody spoke, and both parties merely stared at each other. "Is this explanation to your satisfaction," asked the Wanderer . . .

Vanya nodded slightly, her eyes steely. She lowered the spear but still held it.

"I bid you welcome." She lifted her arm in a sweeping gesture. "This is the Golden Horde, whom you call myth, legend. We bid you welcome. No disrespect was meant. You received a far less harsh welcome than most would have. We are warriors, it is our way, first, to determine with whom we deal." She moved forward by one footstep toward the Wanderer. "You, we hold in great reverence. Of the rest, their actions must determine. Respect is not given, it is earned. On both sides. I invite you to sup with us. And I ask for news of Mordor, and more of this quest, if you will speak of it. And perhaps in the end, the Horde can offer something in return. You look upon the most skilled of warriors."

She waited for their answer. It was not often she offered this sort of welcome. Had it not been for the presence of the Wanderer, she would have taken them prisoner first before asking questions. Wizards did not frighten her, nor the dark, nor death. What warriors fear other men do not, for their fears are not the ordinary fears.

There was no break in the formation of the troops as she waited, and they stood as one, still encircling the newcomers.

"We would be delighted to sup with you, and share what news we are able," Edric responded in the calmest of all possible ways, not wishing to be spitted on the lance Vanya carried.

They were herded towards a large tent, and ducked inside. It was surprisingly spacious, and multicolored pillows littered the floor, around a large rug which covered most of the ground. Vanya gestured for them to sit, and poured into golden goblets an amber liquid from a tall, slender golden pitcher.

"As the Wanderer said," Edric began, "we are on a quest. We cannot divulge the nature of the quest, to do so would bring your people into danger. Not that you couldn't handle the danger," he added quickly. "Still it is not our task to involve many in what a few have undertaken. You ask of Mordor. There is a Lord in Barad-Dur again, and his powers grow daily. He is far seeing, and seeks a thing of power, one part of which already lies with him, two parts of which, we, as representatives of the free races, seek to hide from him. A Fellowship travels to Mordor even as we speak, in hopes of retrieving what the Dark Lord has taken, for this thing of power carries with it destruction if it is made whole."

He took the goblet Vanya offered and drank. The liquor was sweet and burned his throat, warming him inside.

The Wizard spoke fairly, still there were many questions. Vanya understood the nature of a quest better than most.

"I understand why you cannot tell me what it is you seek to hide, and why. The less who know the better, if you are to succeed. We have been too long alone here, out of the flow of events in this realm, for we value our solitude. The time has come to abandon that way of life, and take another path, for we are warriors, and if war is coming, we will fight in the front lines. So from you I ask, not for details of your quest, unless we may aid you somehow against the dark one. Military details, I want. Who are the forces in play, and what are their numbers?"

A small, Hobbit girl came towards the group. She was slightly thinner than a normal Hobbit, with rosy cheeks and long brown hair. What was extremely odd was her eyes, though. They were purple and she wore clothes to match. Vanya looked down at her.

"Hello, Lady Vanya. Remember when you first let me stay here and I said I would explain to you who I am? Now, I believe, is the time." The girl turned to the rest of the party. "My name is Momo, Mage of Metal," said the Hobbit seriously. She broke out into a wide smile. "But you may call me Chibi-Momo! I have fought the Dark Lord with my friends for a long time, and the Joining of the Circle will come soon . . ."

Morrolan looked at the Hobbit girl with curiosity. _A Mage_, he thought. _Like Lunea . . ._

"When the Circle comes together, then the Dark Lord will certainly be fearful. Still . . . it's quite a bit off."

"But you said this Circle shall be joined soon," said someone.

"Well . . . yes. To me it is soon. To you, it isn't. Well, you know I really don't like to just blab, so go ahead and ask me anything. I should be able to answer."

"Perhaps we shall go sit somewhere comfortable to listen and ask questions," suggested someone to Vanya.

"I certainly have some questions to ask you, Momo," said Morrolan.

"Chibi-Momo!" said the Hobbit. 

Morrolan sighed irritably. _Why does she remind me of Lunea?_

Edric smiled a hearty welcome at this most unusual Halfling. With his staff, her drew a map which glowed silver on the floor. Vanya watched. She was a formidable presence and Edric wanted to answer her questions quickly, in order to gain her support, which would be a great boon to their cause.

"Here was Rivendell, now destroyed, by the Dark Hand. And here, the Fellowship of Arwen moves toward Lorien, there to complete their part of the quest to hide this thing of power from the Dark Lord. Homeless, the Elves of Rivendell will now take up residence here in Lorien, and make of it a stronghold for their forces, for the Dark Lord cannot reach there yet." The tip of his staff moved, trailing silver.

"Here, goes the Fellowship to Mordor, to steal back what was taken by the Dark Lord, their quest is most perilous. Syntoc the White rides with them, and a Circle of Mages come from another realm, and a young prentice Mage, and a Halfling burglar, and an Elf of great heart."

His staff moved once again. "And here you find our Fellowship, which moves northward, towards the Wastes, seeking to hide from the Dark Lord another portion of this thing of power, in the Lands of Dragons where he may not come . . . yet. With the Elves in one place, they are now vulnerable, for Lorien is not impenetrable, though strongest of all places, as yet. I fear Gondor will be next laid waste, the stronghold of Men." He drew a circle where Minas Tirith lay. "Defense will be most needed here, for if Gondor falls, so shall other lands, as it was during the War of the Ring.  
Elrond has returned, bringing a great army of Elves, and together as they are, a great fighting force. Gondor is strong. But the Dark Lord has raised a great army of Orcs, and the Nazgul have been seen again, flying like winged death over Mordor. Other terrors, he has likely invoked, that will be met in time. If you pledge your forces, you will be a mighty asset in turning back His hand."

"Aye," Vanya answered after a long, thoughtful pause. "Northward, you may escape his view for a time. There, are the great Wyrms, Lords of Fire, and their magic is deep and old, older than the Lord of Mordor, older than Sauron, older even than Elvenkind." Her hand caught that of Elodin, her husband.

"Your request for aid is answered, Edric. For we know the lands of the North, and the ways of the Dragons, as no other races do. I will send with you my daughter, Aidan, who is called friend to the Wyrm Orm, elder among his kind. Your biggest threat is the Dragons, as you bear north. With their friendship, you may yet live, and succeed. The blood guard I shall send, and Aidan, who is fierce, dragon-hearted, and well trained. And the Horde shall go to Gondor and Rohan, and our forces disperse where needed, and when war comes we shall be at the fore, ready to defend."

Vanya went to the door of the tent, pulling back the flap and calling for Aidan, so that Edric and his company could meet and approve of her.

Momo walked up to Vanya. 

"And where shall I go, Lady?" she asked quietly. "You do not know yet, but I may be some help. There are always inventions to make . . ."

Aidan presented herself next, standing before the Fellowship, and her mother and father, in gleaming armor, helmeted, her sword in hand, her expression steely.

~*~

As Edric explained the nature of the quest to Vanya, and as Vanya offered assistance, the Wanderer excused himself to get a breath of fresh air.

He looked towards the South, towards Mordor, thinking of the impending battle. Thinking of when he would meet the Dark Lord on the field of battle. 

Wanting to know of the progress of the other Fellowships, he let out a low whistle, but nothing happened. Frustrated, he let out another whistle, but still nothing happened.

He was about to return to the others when a Wolf appeared. It was a strange Wolf with pure white fur and bright blue eyes. It walked up to the Wanderer and sat, and the Wanderer placed his hand on the Wolf's head. "It's about time, old friend," said the Wanderer. "What news have you?" 

Through telepathy, the Wolf told the Wanderer of all of the happenings in the other Fellowships, more notably the capture of Geharion and the situation of Legolas and Emer. "It appears that the Dark Lord was too powerful for those two to resist His will."

"You say there is another Mage which can speak to animals?" 

The Wolf nodded. 

"Tell this Mage of Geharion's capture, for I fear for that Eagle's life if he stays in Mordor much longer. You might as well inform the other Fellowships of our progress as well, and tell them to relay messages through you and your brethren because communication between the fellowships will become important."

He was about to send the Wolf away when his thought returned to Legolas and Emer. "Keep an eye on those two," he said, "Guard them from enemies as secretively as you can, and directly interfere only if they get too close to Mordor. You must do everything within your power to keep them from entering the Black Land . . . I do not know what the Dark Lord has planned for them . . . You and your brethren are my eyes and my ears. Keep me informed and deliver my message as fast as you can . . ."

The Wolf ran off with great speed, and the Wanderer returned to the others as Vanya's daughter introduced herself.

Aidan bowed before the Wanderer. Aidan did not possess the exotic beauty of her mother or the Elven grace of her father, she was plain of face but exuded a quiet strength and confidence and the taut energy of youth and long training.

"I am honored to guide you further North, and pledge the lives of myself and the blood guard of my mother in your defense."

She waited for some sign of approval, for the Wanderer was esteemed among the Horde, and protocol must be observed. 

The Wanderer bowed in return to Aidan. "If you are willing to guide us through the North, aware of the peril we face, then you honor us by being our guide, Aidan," said the Wanderer. "Though I would not ask you to pledge something as precious as your life at such a young age . . . But, one could say that almost everyone is young when compared to a person older than the Sun and Moon."

The Wanderer could not help but notice the beauty of Aidan. Not the pronounced and extreme beauty of an Elf, nor the beauty of her mother. But beauty nonetheless, whether she knew it or not, accentuated by the great store of inner strength the Wanderer sensed. Seeing someone so young, yet so strong and willing to lay down her life for a cause, made the Wanderer remember his own youth. Since he led a solitary life, being around so many so much younger than him made the Wanderer recall the years of his youth. But the memories brought pain, not happiness. They reminded the Wanderer of the sins that had he committed so long ago, and that he could not rest until the Dark Lord was defeated.


	38. The Call of the Wolf

****

Chapter Thirty-eight

The Call of the Wolf

The distant howl of a Wolf was clearly heard throughout the camp of the Golden Horde, but only the Wanderer heard the message contained within the wolf's cry . . . _The Nazgul is going to kill Geharion_. The Wanderer cried out in anger as he ran to a nearby rock ledge. 

The other two Fellowships only saw a beam of white light pierce the sky from an unknown source. The Fellowship closest to the Nazgul saw this light strike the Nazgul in the chest, causing the Ringwraith to cry out in pain, and causing the beast it rode to drop the Eagle. An unknown source slowed the descent of the Eagle, and it landed on the ground with no more injury than it already had.

The Wanderer's hand was smoking as he lowered it, and all those present stared at him in amazement . . . The Wanderer was amazed as well. "That was the third time that that had happened in my entire life," he stammered out in shock, "And each time that I do . . . that . . . I have absolutely no idea how it happens . . . It is almost as if it is a random occurrence."

The Wanderer sat on the ground where he had stood, and he did not speak again for the rest of the night . . .

Aidan went to the Wanderer's side, bringing water.

"He has spent his power," she growled to those standing and gawking. "Go! Finish the provisioning of the packs for the Wanderer and his Fellowship. Do not stand around like children!"

The others scattered, and Aidan lowered herself to the ground beside the Wanderer. She offered him the silence of companionship, the silence only a warrior knows, or a wanderer, the silence that comes when words are only noisome chatter, and useless.

She bathed his face as a comrade would, and gave him water, and a blanket to stave off the chill that sometimes swept the plains of Eriador even in late summer, and left him to the depth of his thoughts.

~*~

Vanya was not oblivious to the distant calling of the Wolf, attuned as she was to these lands off which they had all lived for so many years.

"Go then, brother, fearless one," she whispered to the night. 

She watched her daughter, Aidan, with deep pride, readying the packs of the company whose quest she would join. Aidan, in control, always so alert, a warrior born. Aidan missed nothing.

Vanya let out a small chittering sound, than to anyone else would sound like one of the small creatures that inhabited the plains. Aidan turned immediately, for it was their signal, and came to Vanya's side.

"How fares the Wanderer?" Vanya inquired.

"He rests."

"And the others?"

"The Dwarf-King sits with his comrade, speaking of the way ahead, and the Mage, Morrolan, is with the Wizard, speaking of the way behind."

Vanya nodded. "Aidan, I do not say so often, but I am proud of you. No one could have asked for a daughter of such strength of purpose, and such heart." Vanya lifted one of the many necklaces she wore from around her neck.

"Your father gave this to me, when first we realized we loved. It is not beautiful, nor does it possess any power that I am aware of, other than the sharing of our lives, which is a great thing unto itself. These shells come from your father's land, over the Sea, and he bore them here in his youth, and gave them to me, and now I pass them to you, daughter of my heart, and all my hope goes with you, to the North." Vanya placed the necklace around Aidan's neck.

"And I too come from a distant land, over the Sea. And so they shall remind you of your roots, though we are a vagabond nation, and you will carry them into the future."

Vanya kissed her daughter, touching the medallion at her forehead, which she had won in her training. It was not the way of the Horde to be overaffectionate; such moments were rare, and prized, and not spoken of openly.

~*~

Elodin joined Vanya, after he had helped Aidan finish the packs and the sorting of weapons and goods to be taken along. Vanya was at his side.

He ran a fingertip down her bare shoulder, and turned back to look at his dark-eyed daughter.

Aidan was as prepared as she would ever be for what was about to come, as they all were, as prepared as the shore can be for the oncoming storm. A smile touched Elodin's face as he saw the necklace he had once given Vanya around his daughter's neck.

"It suits her," he said quietly, for like Vanya he was of few words, and emotions were shown and shared in private. They stood together, sharing they worry silently, until their son ran up and broke their reverie.

"Father, come and practice with me," he said, holding his katana. 

Elodin smiled. "I shall."

He looked back at Vanya, with love, and took Tolar's hand. 

~*~

"Wizard," Vanya snapped, striding up to Edric.

"We have just received word. Lindorinand is under siege, surround by Orcs. We go to battle. Listen to Aidan, she will guide you well. Fare well, and may the wind guide you!"

The Horde broke camp within minutes, forming up into squads, and began to move toward the pass.

They would not stop until they reached the Elfwood.


	39. The Mystic Lake

****

Chapter Thirty-nine

The Silmaril. The Golden Wood. The Mystic Lake.

Arwen waited when Graybough strode back to the Field of Celebrant, the Silmaril clutched in his fist. He uncurled his fingers, and many eyes gazed in wonder at the green splendor in the Ent's hand. With a great thrumming hoom, he waited for Arwen to take it. She reached up, her lithe fingers curling lovingly around the gem, reverently she picked it up. Graybough's eyes deepened at the fairness of Arwen, even though grief had laid its heavy hand on her, her inner beauty shone with a strength that did not waver.

Graybough turned, striding ahead, making ready the path of the great company of Elves, for Fimbrethil waited in Lorien already.

Arwen watched after Graybough, until he was gone.

"Noble one," she said softly, the Silmaril glowing in her palm like the heart of the forest. For all the secrets of Mirkwood lay inside, the dark forest of dreams. Many gathered around to gaze upon it, and wonder at the murky green depths within. Arwen knew the part the gem could play in the joining of the Three, still it was grievous to see such a thing of beauty hidden away. Yet it must be so, to keep it from the Dark Lord's hands.

It had nearly gone to him, through Emer, and Arwen's eyes flashed angrily at the way Emer had run off like a thief in the night, at the careless way she had nearly brought wanton destruction to Fangorn, where dwelt memory past all those who now walked in Arda, memories of the first dawn.

So Arwen put the precious thing away at last, and they carried on, and coming through pasturelands were amazed, finding the roads lined with farmers and their families, coming to see the great host of Elves on their way to Lorien. Arwen hailed them, and they raised their torches, calling back in greeting.

"Be of good cheer, for what was destroyed will be raised again, and all that is good will endure!" she cried, and they gave a great roar at her words, for they had heard of the burning of Rivendell. The Elves were gladdened at their cheers, and Arwen could see that the Men and Women were also lighter of heart. They marched on, nearly home. 

__

'Lady,' called Silverstar. _'You must let go of your anger at the moment. There is no point to it. Emer is gone. But be comforted in this way; for every action, there will be an equal reaction. All who have wronged shall pay for the suffering of others.'_ Silverstar's voice grew strong as he spoke. Silvermoon walked beside his brother, smiling.

~*~

"Behold!" Arwen cried when the end of the march was at last in sight. "We are home! For there is the land where once dwelt Amroth, Lord of the Ancient." Like the rush of wings the Elves began to murmur happily amongst themselves all at once, and footsteps grew swift as Lothlorien came into view all around them, and many burst into song. Many had never come here, and were mystified by the enchanting beauty of the golden Mallorn trees, and the deep silence of the place.

Arwen laughed as near her two Elves darted up into the treetops. Though the destruction of Rivendell was still an open wound, a wound that would never close or heal, it was not possible to be anything but delighted when standing in this place, and Arwen was filled with a fierce gladness. Rivendell had been their heart, and her home for countless years, but this place was their soul, and she sighed, looking up at the majesty of the leaves of the Mallorn dancing in the breeze, their golden artistry taking her breath away.

She felt her father's hand on her shoulder. "You did well, Arwen, in leading them here. Look." Arwen watched. Already the masses were dispersing, exploring. A young Elf who had come back with her father cartwheeled past.

"Soon this place will be filled with the sound of children." It seemed to her that Lorien also rejoiced, and was gladdened to be filled with the hearts and spirits of those who loved her so well, and so long.

"It is long since I heard you laugh, Arwen."

Her face grew dark. "I fear it will be long, or never that you hear it again, for I must depart soon, to Gondor, I will be needed there."

They walked slowly, seeking a place to converse, for it seemed somehow blasphemous to speak of the coming shadows on an evening of such joy.

Elrond's face was grim to look on as he faced Arwen in the deepening darkness.

"There can be no question of you leaving now, Arwen," he said, his eyes full of pain. "For I will not lose you again. If you ride to Gondor, we ride together, but not before we complete the errand we have here in Lorien. You are like a lantern in the darkness to our kindred, Arwen.

"The lantern has been borne far, let the lamp burn out of the wind for a while. It is long since we sang here, on the banks of the Celebrant. Tomorrow, we will hide the Silmaril from the eye of Mordor." He touched her hair. "I would not lose you again, Arwen, Evenstar of your people you are still and ever shall be. Do not deny that which is your birthright, do not seek death, and the Dark Kingdom."

He smiled on her, his child, neither of them yet aware of the peril that lay so very near.

~*~

When the Elves entered Lorien, Grool awoke his troops. When the last of the Elves entered the forest, the massive army of Orcs and Uruk-hai surrounded Lothlorien. The standards of Mordor and Grool flew on the borders of the valley and the Orcs made camp. They built guard towers at strategic locations around Lorien, preventing anything from getting in or out of the new home of the Elves. Grool relayed this information to the Dark Lord with his vulture, Black Wing. At the Dark Lord's bidding, Lothlorien would burn . . .

~*~

Deep within the Golden Wood, was a place only Elves could come to. The Mystic Lake, its waters old and deep, unmarred by the passage of years or the affairs of Men. The way to the lake was difficult to find, even for Elves, and those who thought they knew the way often thought again, for it seemed the path twisted, and changed, and was different for each coming and going.

Arwen and Elrond stood beside the lake now, and never heard the great hue and cry that rose. They gazed for a last moment at the Silmaril before Arwen lifted her hand and threw it. It arced over the lake, glinting green, and sliced into the water, gone. Arwen nodded slightly to her father.

One third of the Anachron was now hidden and only two people knew how to retrieve it now.

~*~

Ayon was among the sentries posted around the Golden Wood, and one of the first to see the horde of Orcs coming. 

He sprang down from his post in the trees, running.

"Yrch!" he called, and from tree to tree the word traveled swiftly. Lorien was surrounded and under siege.


	40. Battle for Lothlorien

****

Chapter Forty

Battle for Lothlorien.

As Grool awaited the orders for the destruction of Lorien, he decided to take some revenge. He looked to a small squad of Uruk-hai. "You Uruk-hai are not as sensitive to the light as we Orcs are. I have a job for you. On the western side of the Misty Mountains there is a cave. In that cave is a female Halfling named Pansy Took. I want you to take her and any one with her to me. I would be willing to let you all live if you succeed. If you fail, I will rip off your heads with my bare hands! Now go!" 

The Uruk-hai left and Grool awaited the return of his vulture with the orders to destroy Lothlorien . . .

~*~

By night the Uruk-hai traveled to Moria. They snuck through secret tunnels and came out on the other side in about three days. They traveled swiftly to the entrance of the cave Grool had spoken of. They approached the cave, smelling a Hobbit and some others. They would have the Halfling that Grool wanted, and they would live. 

They carried a cage to put the Halfling in . . .

The Uruk-hai that Grool sent to get Pansy entered the cave where Pansy was hiding. They grabbed the Halfling and stuffed her in the cage. They clubbed the others in the cave and flung them on their backs. They moved with all swiftness back to Grool. They would be rewarded . . .

~*~

Grool watched as the Elves found out about the siege. He ordered the Uruk-hai to shoot anything that moved within the forest. He ordered them to stay on alert until the Dark Lord sent the order to destroy the Elves. 

Grool was growing impatient; he sent the request for orders weeks ago. By the time he was told to destroy, the Elves would be prepared to defend themselves. He wanted to kill, but he knew that if he did, the Dark Lord would become very angry.

A matronly Elf, stately but beautiful, strolled nonchalantly up to Grool, teasing him with her eyes.

"Greetings." She held up her right hand. In the center of her palm, a red eye glowered.

"I bring you word. Hark. You are not to destroy the Golden Wood. You were told to surround it and let none leave." She gestured upwards, her wispy hair floating like chaff in the wind.

"Those are the finest archers in Arda. They will slay you if you move any closer."

She sidled up to Grool, lips parted as if she was about to kiss him. He looked quite eager for it.

Her nails sank into his neck.

"Fool," she hissed. "Fail me and perish." Grool took her by the neck, to crush her, but all that remained was a shower of gold dust that shimmered away on the breeze.

"All good things come to those who wait," came a hollow laugh from over his left shoulder, which quickly died away.

When the apparition disappeared, Grool knew it to be one of the servants of the Dark Lord. He simply waited for the Uruk-hai to return. 

Late one night, they did. They presented the prisoners to Grool with a bow. Grool had a large wooden prison constructed. The one Grool saw teleport was placed in chains with a shackle tight against her neck. 

Pansy was replaced as the cook, and Grool regained his amulet. "Poor Pansy, haha. So now you're back to cooking the nasty Orc's meals? You shouldn't have tried to escape. You just ended back here. And this time I will guard you myself."

~*~

Silverstar walked quickly to Arwen and Elrond as they walked back from the lake. A moment of curiosity passed his eyes, and then disappeared. The sound of a horn being blown echoed across the Woods. Silvermoon had blown the horn to pick up arms. 

__

'Ayon has spotted Orcs surrounding the Woods. Silvermoon has now alerted all who have not heard. We are now at your command.'

~*~

Grool heard the call to arms and had his troops stay within the camp. His archers in the towers prepared to fire at anything they saw move. A few Elves ran into the open, trying to do battle with the Orcs. They were shot down, with almost a quiver of arrows in their chest. 

Daily Grool had some Orcs out gathering trees. Pansy made arrows for the guards. 

Pansy cooked more than she ever had in her life. She was well fed. She was probably better fed than some of the Orcs. It was the reason that Grool thought she would never try to escape again.

~*~

Grool decided he had stayed to long. He took Pansy and some of his Orcs and some the Uruk-hai who had fetched Pansy. He told the others to shoot all Elves they saw and all birds that crossed over the skies. He left for Mordor thinking that he would no longer be needed for the siege of Lothlorien. He left his second in command, an Orc named Vark, in charge of the camp. If Grool's vulture came by, Vark was to take its message. 

Grool passed by night until he got to Mordor. 

He decided it was time to complete the breeding of the Burz-hai. (_Dark folk_) Grool took the Uruk-hai/Orc beings that he bred and had them multiply. He and his virgin would create the second part of his creation. When it was conceived and born, it would be bred with the Uruk-hai/orc. And then, the first Burz-hai would be born.

~*~

The leader of the Uruk-hai had gone and uncertainty could be sensed. This was the moment Graybough and the other Ents had been waiting for.

With a thundering booming they began to surround the Orcs, driving them back from the edges of Lothlorien. Arrows rained down from above, whistling home to slaughter many Orcs. Grayboug caught one who rushed at him in a massive fist crushing it with an angry hoom. The Elves emerged from Lorien, with Arwen at the fore, the sword of Elendil raised high.

"_Elbereth_! _Githoniel_!" Arwen cried, swinging. Her blade met the resistance of an Orcish sword, and sparks flew. From behind came the roar of the army Elrond had brought over the Sea, the sons of Cirdan among them. All the anger and loss of Rivendell's fate was in their hearts, and they fought with terrifying skill.

Arwen, hair flying, was hemmed in by a circle of the largest. Sparks flew as her blade met their resistance, and she was like a berserker, killing without stopping, until they fell and she was free. The strength of her husband she felt in her arms, a great warmth, and there was no fear, only the burning need to drive them off, and keep flame and foe from the Golden Wood.

The Ents formed a line behind and the Elves drove them into it, and soon the Orcs were pinned between the two allied forces. The Ents lifted Elven archers in their strong limbs and arrows flashed until the sky was darkened by their quick shadows.

The Orcs were cut off, their prize taken from them, and began to scatter. The Elves gave chase.

"Go!" Arwen screamed defiantly. "Go and tell your master that Lorien will never fall!"

The Orc towers were hewn down, and their standards shredded, and all were piled up nearby so that any who came near would see them as a testament to what had occurred here. Ayon was eased that the worst was over, but there was more to be done.

"Lady Arwen," he called. "Parties should be sent out to scour the woods, there may be small bands lying in wait."

"Agreed." Arwen quickly assembled teams, and Ayon led the largest of them to search the lands and the banks of the Celebrant. There were signs of the Orc's passage, scars upon the land now, but the last of them had fled.


	41. Draco's Secret

****

Chapter Forty-one

Draco's Secret.

Draco rose while the others fled, a glorious feeling spreading through his limbs like liquor. There was a thunderous crack of displaced air, and a flash of blinding light, and between one breath and the next, Draco flew up from the ground in Dragon-form.

Spreading broad wings and reaching talons out, he caught the Eagle and bore it harmlessly to the ground, then rose again and met the Nazgul head on. Over the trees they doubled, snapped, swooped, and lunged, till smoke roiled around Draco's head, red-lit by the glare of his fiery mouth. In midflight, Draco raised wings, stopped, as the hawks stops, talons outstretched downward, striking and bearing the Nazgul down by neck and flank. He held his catch writhing on the ground.

When he was all afoot, his scaled head, spike-crowned and triple-tongued, rose higher than the height of the greatest of the trees, and his scales were gray-black, catching the fading daylight like broken stone. Lean as a hound he was, and huge as a hill. With one arching of his neck he stuck, his great fangs buried in the Nazgul's neck, and delivered the death blow.

At once Draco took his Human form again, for it was perilous for him to remain in Dragon-form. The longer he did, the quicker the Man in him died away, and the ocean of the skies and winds called to him.

He grinned sheepishly at Syntoc. "I guess my secret is out now."

Lunea took the instant that everyone was in shock to slap Draco on the back of the head. "Hell, yes!" she cried, laughing at the same time, cursing from the shock. "You little ninny! Why didn't you tell us? And such a pretty Dragon you become, too. Now I know why you are named Draco . . ."

Ayala helped Marigold to stand up and saw the conflicting emotions in her mind in the Hobbit's wide eyes.

__

:She's rather confused,: said the Companion. _:Everything is hitting her at once . . . so quickly . . .:_

Ayala hugged Marigold as the Hobbit began to cry again. "It's ok, Mari. Everything will work out. I know it. No one will hurt you . . ."

"We should stop here," said Lunea. "The Eagle will need to be healed."

Syntoc looked up at the group. "Very well done, Draco. I knew that was something hiding within you. You will make a fine Wizard, and now I am fairly sure you will be Draco the White . . . someday." Syntoc lowered his head in sadness and began to weep. "I do not weep for your joy, Draco. Do not think that I am not proud. It is only that . . . the Council did not discuss the Circle. The Council now consists only of three Wizards; Zindel, Edric, and myself. The others said they would have no part in the oncoming war. They would not join the Dark One, but they would also not assist us. I told them the only way to make that decision under my authority was to leave the Council, which every one did. The Great Council of the Wise is now only a Small, Weak Council of Three, and a Pupil. Do not fear. I believe we may still have a chance; we must simply try harder. If you will excuse me . . ." Syntoc walked away from the party to think to himself.

Draco followed Syntoc. "Master," he called, quietly. Syntoc turned to him at last, his eyes heavy.

"The Council may be small now, Master, but it is wise. It those who left were unwilling to stand with us, they would not have done so anyway. And now they will not share in the victory, for we will defeat the Dark Lord. You told me recently that death brings about new life, and the old must make room for the new, as when the harvest of autumn is swept away to make room for the new crops in spring. I know that I'm young, and I haven't seen or done much, but it seems to me that the Council, though smaller, is stronger now, and that the new are coming to take the place of the old."

Syntoc inclined his head slightly, regarding Draco from under the brim of his hat. "You are young, Draco, and impatient. You want to work magic. Manhood is patience. Mastery is nine times patience. You have seen something today, something few have seen, there, in the sky." Syntoc gestured toward where the Nazgul had flown.

They looked together for a solemn moment at the Nazgul now on the ground. Draco felt an icy pain in his heart at the way Marigold had looked at him, afterwards.

"I was afraid to tell you, and yet I felt you already knew," said Draco.

"And now the Lidless Eye has seen too," Syntoc remarked. "There is often more to a Man than meets the eye. Some never reveal their inner truths. Others have the courage, to share such strength as they may, for the cause of good. What you are, you are."

Syntoc fell silent and went off in his quiet way and Draco knew the conversation was now over. He returned to the others. The body of the Nazgul was burned, and there was the evening meal to see to. Marigold wouldn't look at him. Finally he approached her.

"Mari, please, talk to me."

Marigold took Lunea's advice, while still holding Lunea's hand, and went forward to speak to Draco.

Suddenly she began to giggle at the way Lunea had slapped the back of Draco's head. She planted herself in front of him, arms crossed.

"I should slap you myself," she said tartly. "A Dragon, indeed. Why didn't you tell me? Before you say another word, I want your solemn promise none of us is going to end up supper. And remind never to anger you. And I guess I don't have to wonder now how I'm going to get home after all this is over, and if I didn't love you the way I do you'd be in a serious lot of trouble Draco, Dragon or not, don't you dare get fierce with me or scare me like that again, though I must say you put that awful creature in it's place, it was grand really, but I . . ." She clamped her mouth shut when she realized what she'd just said, and that as usual she was chattering like a magpie.

"Oh come ON," she said in exasperation and dragged him off by the hand where they could talk properly. Lunea winked at her, and she blushed.

Now everyone knew.

"Oh what a bumbling burglar I am," she muttered. "And I haven't even stolen anything yet."

"You'll be great, Mari," encouraged Draco. "You know, anger becomes you, you're really pretty when you're angry."

"Don't push your luck Draco."

He gave a great roar and tackled her, pinning her to the ground and tickling her sides.

"Get off me you oaf!" she squealed, and kicked him in the ribs.

He held his side, laughing, and rolled off her.

"Hobbits can really kick." When he stopped laughing he looked over at her again. "You're stronger than you think, Marigold." He kissed her, thinking of the way she'd said she loved him in front of everyone. Nothing could have made him happier.

"I love you, too, you know. I'll never hurt you, Mari. I didn't want to tell you because of the way I feel about you. But I'm glad you know."

"So, Faramir and Eowyn?"

"I have no Human parents, Mari. But they have been my mother and father for as long as I can remember. I was found in Ithilien by them, 17 years ago. And I love them just the same as any son loves their parents."

"Were you, when they found you . . ." she hesitated.

"A boy," he smiled. "It was a Wizard who told them what I really was, passing through Ithilien. Edric."

"He did seem to know an awful lot about you."

"Look, Syntoc is speaking to the eagle. Let's go and see what he found out." The rest of the story would have to wait for another time.

~*~

As the others were talking, Ierik ran to where the Eagle lay, injured. 

"It will be all right, my friend. I shall help you . . ."

Ierik began to attend to the Eagle's many wounds, slowly and carefully. After several seconds, John came and began to work with him, silent. Together, wordlessly, they worked to heal the wounds, never in the other's way, like two dancers. It took a long time to stop the blood, fix the bones, and cover the wounds, but in the end, it was done.

"How is that now, Lord Eagle?" asked Ierik. "Are there any more wounds I have missed? How much do you hurt? My brother has managed to drug you enough so it shall be tolerable pain, I believe . . ."

Geharion gazed up at Ierik with deep gratitude.

"There is little pain. Thanks to you, I will fly once again, though I must heal first. I am parched, I have gone long without water. I ask for this, and to speak to the Wizard, Syntoc," Geharion croaked.

Ierik stood up swiftly. He fetched water as John watched over the Eagle. When he returned he said, "John. Go ask Syntoc if he may come to Geharion. I do not wish him to move right now and I shall not leave him alone."

Ierik helped the Eagle drink.

"Slowly, my friend," said Ierik in the words of the Eagles. "You shall make yourself ill if you drink too fast."

Without a word, John rose and found Syntoc. "I realize that you are in pain," said John. "However, can you speak with Geharion? He is asking for you . . ."

~*~

Sil watched as the wizard walked away, leaving her questions unanswered. But she knew she must let him think because hasty plans often go astray. Then Mir flew to her shoulder. "A message from the Lady Galadriel." Sil took the letter and read it out loud.

__

Silverberry the Alatamir

Your doom is never near

For you will go on

When all else is gone

You will walk Middle Earth

Until Arda's re-birth

You will string your bow

And make an arrow

With the star on your breast

To light the new sky being blessed.

Sil nodded gravely and put the letter in her saddle bag as she recalled the words on the Alatamir's fate from Malbeth the Seer.

~*~

Ayala sat down against a tree, sitting alone. She thought, for only a second, that she heard a song, one that she had known a long time ago. It pierced her heart. She pulled her knees towards her and cried. 

__

Everyone thinks I am strong . . . calm . . . but I do not feel that way. I feel torn in two . . .

:And that is how you shall feel for a long time, Chosen," said Tinviel. _"I shall always be there. I shall never leave you willingly, but not even I can heal you of the hurt your beloved has caused you. Only he can . . .:_

Ayala wiped the tears from her eyes. _:You're right. I . . .:_ She stopped and looked up. A Hawk was sitting on a branch above her, giving her what appeared to be a bemused look. 

__

:Tell that bird to shut up,: said Tinviel, her voice cheerful. She shook her head. _:Vain bird . . .:_

"Greetings, Ayala," said the Hawk, landing near her. 

"Wiyaun!! Where have you been?"

"Traveling. I . . . visited Gimli."

Ayala's heart began to pound. _What will Gimli think . . . ?_ She cut the thought.

"What has happened?" she asked instead.

"He says they are doing well, for now. It is not clear how long that shall last. He has heard from the Eagles what has happened and of the Fellowships. He also sends two messages; one for Syntoc and one for Legolas."

There was an ache in Ayala's chest as the name was spoken, one that she had wished would not haunt her. 

__

:Be strong,: said the Companion.

"I must ask you a favor, Wiyaun."

Ayala stood quickly and walked to her pack. She pulled out half of the circlet she had broken and paper. Something fell as she pulled out the contents, but she had little time to notice at that moment. She wrote quickly and wrapped the note tight around the half-circlet.

"Wiyaun, my friend, Legolas has left this Fellowship. I cannot explain why . . ."

"Cannot explain or will not explain?"

Ayala paused. "Both. Will you take this circlet, my note, and Gimli's message to him? I am not certain where he is or how far . . ."

"But I shall," interrupted the Hawk, now looking at the Companion. "I will help you for you are my friend. It shall take time since you do not know his location and the circlet shall weigh me down, but I shall find him."

Ayala took Gimli's message for Syntoc, then carefully gave her contents to the Hawk.

"Shall it not be a problem? Three items and one heavier than the others . . ."

"Do not worry, Pureheart. I shall find Legolas and he shall receive these items. Fare thee well, Ayala!"

"Fare thee well!"

As Ayala spoke the words, she realized that they were in a different language, though she understood. She looked at her Companion. 

__

:Some time I shall tell you of the world where there are many more like me, of Heralds and their Companions.:

:Herald . . .:

:Yes, Ayala. Heralds . . . like you are, though you haven't received your whites . . .:

Ayala noticed what had fallen out of her bag, then. It was a brooch in the shape of a leaf; the one Legolas had worn. She picked it up and stared at it, her face growing deathly pale. 

After several moments, her eyes turned to the note in her other hand, then she began to walk to where Syntoc was. She handed him the note, still clutching the brooch, her face still pale. Her Companion stood behind her . . .

Syntoc received the note from Ayala, read it quickly, and placed it into his cloak with no obvious change of emotion on his face. He then turned and made his way to the Great Eagle Geharion. "You wish to speak with me?"

"Yes," Geharion answered, his voice having returned after the healing he had received.

"Let the word go out. Mordor is strong. The Orcs have massed there, in their thousands, and other terrors I saw there as well, and heard one spoken of: the Balrog. I fear no other will pass the border to gain information now. His minions have grown, Wise One. Let the Council of the Wise be warned, the destruction of Rivendell was only the beginning, great forces he has at his command. The Elves are in danger, and Gondor, Gondor must be defended. There is an enemy of Mordor in the far North, strong, for now. Send no others to spy. You are bound for the Black Land, I fear you will never leave it if you enter it."

Syntoc looked at the Eagle. "Well done Geharion. I am thankful for the information you have given us. Sadly though, there is no longer a Council of the Wise. All that is left is what is in our three parties. When you get well, will you go tell the other two; Edric and Zindel; of your findings." Syntoc turned to walk away.

"Yes, Syntoc," answered Geharion. He was grieved at the news about the Council. Another stronghold had fallen.

"I must go soon, whether healing has taken place or not. I fear some wounds never heal, there is a fell coldness in my limbs that will not depart, the touch of the Nazgul." Geharion stood, testing his wings.

"You can ride on my shoulder," offered the young Dragon. Geharion hobbled up onto Draco's shoulder.

"Let us go, and leave this place behind," said Geharion, looking back.


	42. On the Run

****

Chapter Forty-two

On the Run.

Fangorn was far behind, and the afternoon sun shone in his eyes, and still Legolas ran. At length he came to a village, small but prosperous.

Emer woke, and took his hand.

"We must have a horse," he said desperately to her.

Legolas approached the town's small Inn, where farmers had gathered outside to share news of their day. Legolas felt a pang of envy at their easy lifestyle, their cares were the cares of those who worked the land; wind and rain and weather, the endless cycle. They looked in surprise at the two Elves whose need was great.

Legolas had nothing of value to trade, but for a silver coil of rope. It was a stroke of good fortune that one of the farmers prized Elven rope, and he was given a stout mare in return, and the good wishes of the farmer's wife, who looking on them saw two in love who were running from something. She would not look so kindly on them, if she knew what he had done. Still he took the mare gratefully, wishing he had more to give them.

Soon the Dark Lord's hand would be felt even here.

He placed Emer before him and they rode off, seeking shelter before the oncoming night. Legolas' thoughts were in turmoil, and in great sorrow he turned from thinking of Ayala, for such thoughts he could not bear if he was to continue on.

They came through bracken to find a lovely thicket where they could stop. Emer slid from the horse, Legolas beside her. She touched the horse's silky mane, wondering what name it had been called. It nibbled at her hand, looking for a treat. She turned to Legolas.

"We have come far. You are so weary. I will go and find some water, and berries, so that you may rest." She wound her arms around his neck, her hand in his dark hair, and kissed his cheek. Her heart leapt when his arms went around her. She felt his exhaustion, as if she were holding him up. She stroked his hair for a long moment, and kissed his cheek, and listened to his quiet breathing. Then she spread her cloak on the ground for him, and bade him lay down. He did so without speaking, and she went off to find water.

Her heart was so filled with joy, the joy of him, that she sang, her voice clear and soft, and the chorus of crickets sang along. She had never known such happiness, there was no room for grief in her heart right now, only him, the one she loved, and she would do anything to stay by his side, anything.

She returned, and they ate, and drank, and she sang to him until he drifted off to sleep, his head on her breast. Tears of joy sprang to her eyes and fell unseen, and the soft sound of his slow breathing was the finest music she had ever heard. What lay ahead or behind did not matter, only the love she felt for him, which was without beginning or end.

Legolas woke, listless and tired. He heard Emer singing nearby; her voice was soft and sweet, and he got up to look for her, following the sound. She sat nearby, in the afternoon sunshine, the horse grazing only a few feet from her.

He stood frozen as he watched her, the sun pouring down on her, the notes of her song cleaving his heart. He drank in the sight, knowing it would be frozen in his memory for all time, unforgettable.

She smiled, feeling his presence, and beckoned to him. He sat beside her, as he had sat beside Ayala only days ago, beloved Ayala who would never forgive him his unforgivable sin.

He tried to smile back at her but could not. She reached for him, and he caught her hand in midair, holding it.

"Emer, I must speak to you, please, hear my words." Her eyes were radiant, and so filled with love he felt strangled by what he was about to say. He searched for the words.

"When I came to you, on the Field of Celebrant, I came to face you, and ask you why, why you would not stay out of my heart, I called you witch, and I am sorry for it, though I know the Dark Lord aided you, and steered both our wills." He paused, breathing deeply, before he could look at her again. She was like the wild heather that grew on the face of the cliff, out of reach.

"What I took from you I had no right to take, for I was moved by lust, and you by love, and now you bear the greatest gift of my life, a son. I did not come to you to make love to you, and take your innocence from you, and I did that . . . you stir a lust in me I cannot describe, even now I want you, and feel I will be plunged into madness looking upon you. Emer, Emer, I pledged my troth to Ayala, Ayala whom I have loved for decades, Ayala who is the other half of my soul, I cannot lie to you, you who carry our child, and I cannot bear to look into your eyes and see so much love, when you deserve more, you deserve what I cannot possibly give you . . ."

He had loosened his grip on her hand, and she touched him as she had that night, that one night under the moonlight that had changed everything forever. He was swept into her eyes, and his mouth closed on hers hungrily. She was warm and sweet and beguiling, and the truth he had been seeking to share with her was splintered and obliterated, and all that remained was her and his need for her.

The moon had left the sky, and the darkness brought comfort, for it was like the darkness of Mirkwood, which was home. Emer pulled her cloak around Legolas' shoulders, she was still warm from their loving and had no need of it. She padded off, taking her pack, the darkness like a blanket around her, trying to soothe her. Finding her water bottle she drank deeply, with a great thirst.

Her other thirst would never be quenched. It was a crushing admission she made to herself. He would never love her, not the way she loved him.

Regret fell on her in the tears that made their way down her face, and she wandered away. The horse stood silent, resting. She watched it for a moment. Finally she settled against the trunk of a tree, where there was scant light, and deep shadows, and the darkness pressed against her eyes like wet velvet, and it was small comfort to her.

She took from her bag a small stringed instrument.

She cared not that no one would hear her song, it did not matter, for she sang her own grief, and regret, regret that she had turned to the Dark Lord to bring her what she could never have, regret that she would have let the world burn so long as he loved her.

She sang in the end a song that was often sung in Mirkwood, when two were joined as lifemates, the song that would never be sung for her and Legolas. No one would share the cup of their joy, though she would bear him a child. He thought she had not heard him, but she had.

So her voice rang out into the night, unheard.

__

When the soft night is through

Departed, into darkness

And it's song, untrue

The fantasy, and you

Love is here, here is love

Naught else matters . . .

With these words, I care

A destiny, we share

It's a dream come true

The fantasy, and you

Love is here, and naught else matters . . .

And when the dawn comes breaking

Joined to the night, unforsaking

Pleasured gifts in the autumn mists

Creation found in the rolling clouds . . .

Her voice broke, and she wept. She thought she saw a flash of white in the woods. She closed her eyes.

Emer never knew, until a far distant day, that Legolas listened nearby, pressed against a tree, his face in his hands. The outpouring of emotion he had just heard was too deep for tears, or words, and his heart fell away from him when he thought of the careless way he had made love to her only hours ago, and now she sat alone in the darkness, her voice soaring, singing the wedding song, and he knew all her heart in the sound of that singing.

He must not touch her again, even though he knew the impossibility of it, knowing what it meant to her. In one moment of epiphany he knew why she had done all she had done, and the Dark Lord's small influence mattered little. His hands gripped the tree as her singing stopped, and he felt her choking on emotions as surely as if she stood before him. How little regard he had, not to allow her even this solitary moment of grief.

He found himself back where he had started, where they had lain together a short time before. He sat, holding Emer's cloak, lifting his eyes. The wind sighed in the treetops, and he stared at the stars between, seeking salvation from the empty sky.

~*~

Deagol scampered and scrambled along, sniffing the trail. The Hobbit girl was far behind now, Deagol was swift, faster than they would believe. He snuffled along, pleased with himself. He would see the company again before they reached Mordor.

For now, he was well fed, and did not thirst, and the darkness was so nice and pleasant, and no nasty Elves watched him with their horrid bright eyes, though he came near to two of them now, two he tracked. Wicked Legolas, and Emer, lovely Emer, Legolas had stolen away with her.

Deagol crept along, peering through the trees, he could see far better than even some Elves, here in the darkness, his home.

He smelled them first, then saw them, sleeping. He came close, shivering, afraid of those eyes which could open and burn him, he must be careful, quiet and careful.

He was very close now, must not frighten the horse, no, no . . .

They were asleep in the grass. The girl, Emer, resting against Legolas, her hands clasped beneath her chin, as though she prayed. She was lovely, lovely, with her bright eyes closed, and Déagol touched her hair, quivering at it's softness. He coveted the silver garland in her hair, silver leaves, so shiny.

He crawled around to Legolas. Not so fierce now, sleeping, easy to throttle him now, or stab, stab at the fierce eyes before they could open. Déagol reached out, long fingers stretching, to wrap them around the throat of Legolas, and take his revenge . . .

In the middle of the night, the Wolves watched as a strange creature approached Legolas and Emer while they slept. Seeing that this creature was up to no good, three Wolves prepared to attack; one on either side of Deagol, and one behind. The three took action as Deagol reached for the neck of Legolas. One Wolf pounced on Deagol and pinned him to the ground while the others protected the two Elves. However, Déagol was a slippery creature, and he slipped out from under the wolf and ran off into the wilderness.

The Elves awoke with a fright to see three Wolves standing before them. Thinking the Wolves were evil, Legolas looked down momentarily to retrieve a dagger, but the Wolves were gone when he looked back. They departed as silently as the had come, and were nowhere to be seen . . .

Legolas brought Emer under his arm, still holding the dagger.

"Wargs?" she asked, her voice tremulous with fear.

"It does not seem so, still we will not stay and find out. If they pursue us, we must put some distance between ourselves, and them."

Legolas breathed, sensing no danger, only the faint scent of an ill will, weakened. He noticed something amiss.

"Emer, the garland you wore in your hair, it is gone." It grieved Legolas to say it, knowing such things were heirlooms that passed among families. Emer touched her hair in dismay. They searched around in the grass, to no avail.

Departing hastily, they rode in silence, the horse well-rested and fed, until morning stretched out into late afternoon. The land became rocky, and rougher, covered with tough trees, some of which were shaped and bent by the incessant wind. 

He lifted Emer from the horse, and pressed some lembas into her hand. "You must eat. I promise you better fare later in the evening."

Taking his dagger, he cut many of the strong, supple limbs from the gnarled trees and spent the afternoon making arrows, working with his knife and a sharp stone he always carried. Emer sat beside him, smoothing the hafts of the arrows with the stone and humming a tune softly, and when nightfall touched the sky their quivers were full.

They saw no Wolf or Warg or any beast save the small grey birds that lived among the strange trees, who seemed voiceless and gave no song.

Before the darkness covered the sky completely they found a place safe enough, to stop, with water nearby, though not altogether fresh, though they were sheltered greatly by the large rocks, and camped within.

Emer was quiet, and Legolas sat beside her, urging her to eat, and drink, for the good of the child.

He stroked her hair as he would a small child's until she slept, and he watched her, his heart full of many things.

At length his attention was drawn by a scritching on the rocks above. He rose slowly, for a Great Hawk perched there.

"Are you messenger, or message?" he asked softly.

The Hawk was carrying something, which it dropped at Legolas' feet. Something solid fell from the roll of parchment. One half of the circlet he had given Ayala. He picked it up gingerly, placing it in his pack. The Hawk was ready to take flight, and Legolas held it with his eyes. 

Stepping outside the stone circle, he found what he sought, growing near the bases of the stones.

Tiny purple flowers, wild, that lived next to the cold stones, springing from the tough ground, with small bell-like blossoms. He tied a small bunch of them together, and gave them to the Hawk, and watched the direction it flew off, which was towards Mordor.

Emer woke, and watched Legolas placing a small bundle in the beak of a Hawk who perched tentatively on the rock's edge, as if it could not bear to leave it's realm of air for more than a minute. Emer was unaware of the reason the Hawk had plummeted from the sky, until she saw Legolas stoop to retrieve something from the ground that fell, flashing near the fire.

It was something golden, and Emer watched as Legolas placed it in his pack, and sat cross-legged before the fire, unrolling two small scrolls. She studied his profile as he read, the fire dancing so near to him, and she memorized the lines of his face, so that she would never forget the way he looked right now, so still and quiet as if he had grown in this spot. Her heart ached with love for him, and a sad, empty longing tore through her. When he put the letters away, she went to him, and embraced him. Her touch was not provocative, but caring, and she wound her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, as a friend would do who tries to comfort another. He never saw the tears that sprang unbidden when he returned her embrace, holding her close.

She didn't mean to say it, but the words slipped out, and hung in the air between them.

"I love you, Legolas . . ."

After a time, he answered, his face still quiet.

"I know."

She held onto him, trying to comfort him, and for all his closeness and warmth he felt a million miles away.

He took her face in his hands. "Emer, Emer, the words I said to you, I did not say to hurt you, and I would do nothing to change what we share, which is Luthan our son, no matter how his creation was brought about." His voice sounded harsh in the semi-darkness.

"So much hurt I have brought to you already, you who would give me the sun and moon and stars if they were within your grasp. I pledge myself to your care and protection, to make reparation for all I have done, to you, and Ayala. I will not forsake you, Emer, nor our son." He kissed her without meaning to, trying to give back to her some of the love that shone so deeply in her eyes, fighting the flood tide of desire that came with that intimate touch. Somehow, he tore himself away.

He had just tried to tell her, in his own way, that he loved her too; in all his confusion, and the jarring loss of separation from Ayala, he looked at her now with profound sadness, so elusive were the words for which he searched and never found.

"I cannot seem to say what I mean."

She touched his face, and they sat watching as the fire died. Since neither would rest, they buried the fire's remains and took to their horse again.

Emer sat before him, and he laid his hand over her abdomen, and hers she laid over his.

"Where are we bound?" she asked softly.

"Eriador."

Disclaimer: I don't know where the song is from.


	43. Mordel

****

Chapter Forty-three

Mordel

Mordel walked through Mordor to Barad-dur. As she entered, she saw a huge host of Orcs. Her tall boots clicked as she walked on the stone floor. She was tall, beautiful, and evil. Not only was she a warrior, she was a seductress. She kneeled down before Intathin, "My Lord . . ."

Intathin dispatched other forces for Erebor. Gondor, he would turn his gaze to next . . . when all had gone to obey him, his voice, like silk, wrapped around Mordel.

"Welcome."

Mordel looked up at Intathin. "Thank you, my Lord. What do you wish me to do?" She fingered the hilt of her sword, a long thick blade that blazed with a fire when doing evil, waiting for her commands.

Intathin seethed with rage. His prized Nazgul destroyed, along with its rider, by his old nemesis. Like an icy wind, the Lidless Eye turned northeast, seeking . . .

Pleasure rose in other quarters, Lorien soon to be under siege, the Silmaril soon with his grasp once again . . .

Forces on the way to Gondor, unhindered . . .

A boy with a great secret that could easily be bent to the will of Mordor traveling hither as though called . . .

"Mordel, I have a task for you, one which will assure your place in the annals of victory. There wanders one in the North, nameless, who seeks the destruction of our coming regime. I want him killed." Intathin showed Mordel the Wanderer's image in the Palantir. "He seeks to toy with us as he did Sauron. Will we allow it?" He laughed, his voice oily.

"This do for me, and I will elevate you to the status of my second-in command."

A black smile crept . . .

Mordel looked up, her eyes wide. "But, my Lord, is he not a Wizard?" She was a warrior, but what was a warrior against a Wizard?

Mordel waited while the Dark Lord's attention was diverted elsewhere. She would go if she had to, but she was not eager to do battle with a Wizard. She had once before, but that was long ago, and he was gone now. Something more to her liking would be dealing with the Elves who lurked in the forests, or the Dwarves; the possibilities danced in her mind. She shuddered as Intathin's gaze was upon her again. She waited, ready to ride to battle, or a simple slaying.

"Mordel, hold. Before you depart, come, and gaze into the Palantir with me." His silken voice caressed her senses as a lover would, and she stepped forward.

"As you travel north, I want these two followed, for they go the same road. They carry something precious. I do not want them harmed, make them not aware of your presence. The Wanderer knows they are coming to join him. They have something I want. I cannot take it from them, yet. Guard them well. Once I have taken from them what is rightfully mine, you will have the pleasure of killing them. Legolas, is he, a warrior of some renown. Take care with him. The girl is another matter, an innocent of sorts, with a pliant will.

"She will follow Legolas wherever he goes. Her, you can toy with as you will, as long as Legolas does not catch you, and she is not harmed physically. Do this for me, Mordel, and you name will be written in the stars, and all Mordor will hail you as agent of its dark will. Go!"

Mordel stalked out of Barad-dur and mounted Beleg. She kicked him and they galloped away, heading northwards. 

Soon, she saw the two Elves ahead and slowed. As she looked at them, what she saw disgusted her: a sad, broken warrior, and a scared, love-hungry girl. Mordel's keen eyes noticed that the girl's abdomen was swollen. Was that what he wanted? An Elf child? She pushed the matter out of her mind-it was no matter to her.

As the other two stopped for a drink, she swiftly pulled Beleg behind a tree where they couldn't be seen. After a while, plodding steps told her they were on their way again, and she followed.


	44. The River Greyflood

****

Chapter Forty-four

The River Greyflood

They passed through Enedwaith, nearing the River Greyflood, which toppled over its banks in the lateness of summer, filled by the melt of snow high and far above. Summer was waning quickly, and there was the first breath of autumn in the nights.

Emer flourished with new life, and they stopped where she willed along the way, Legolas wishing to please her and ease the journey as he could.

They stood now in a rocky field near the river. Small white butterflies had come in their thousands to mate, and they fluttered down like snow. Emer was filled with glee at the sight, and her childlike happiness made him smile, though they could not tarry here long, and a way across the Greyflood must be found before dark. 

Emer sang softly, watching the butterflies, and in spite of the sweetness of her song, Legolas felt an unease. An enemy would easily be seen here in this open country, still a chill needled his spine and he felt the presence of malice, an ill will directed towards him, and Emer. He went to Emer, and laid his hand on her shoulder, and she smiled up at him with her eyes.

"We must go." He was loath to tear her from the beautiful sight, but they must go on.

Mordel stopped Beleg behind the sheets of butterflies. He could sense her. She stooped over a stream and washed her face and scrubbed it until it was bright and shiny. Then she cut a nick in her wrist and used the blood on her cheeks and lips. Last she plaited her hair and Beleg's mane, tail, and feathers. As she remounted and followed the Elves she felt disgusting. As they continued Mordel took care they didn't see her but knew it was no matter if they did now that she looked like this.

~*~

The Horde had crossed the Greyflood one by one over a rope bridge they had constructed. When all had reached the other side scouting parties moved out while the bridge was taken down and the rope stowed away.

Vanya came like a shadow upon a horsewoman intently watching two Elves. The Horde had not announced themselves to the Elves as friends yet, and in spite of their great numbers they could move without being met if they so chose, for they were warriors and this was all their skill.

Vanya leapt, knocking the woman from the horse and whistling for the others, who grabbed the reins.

With her knees she held the woman's arms down, sitting astride her chest, her knife glittering at the woman's throat. Whistling loudly, Vanya called for another squad, and they gathered in a tight know around where Vanya held the woman down.

The only sound to be heard was the breathing of them all.

"Speak now, or have your tongue cut out," Vanya hissed. "Go and tell the two Elves yonder that we caught this one following them, and bring them hither," Vanya ordered.

Mordel lay quietly on the ground letting Vanya sit astride her. "Beleg," she called sweetly and she heard a stomp and champ on the bit and knew all was well. Mordel reached down her side and felt for Durnar and cradled some of the fire in her hand, letting it grow, then she softly threw it into the air. Some of the squad left to put out the flame it had made. Good. While Vanya dove the knife harder into her throat Mordel let out an evil screech and Beleg galloped into the clearing. As he knocked Vanya off balance Mordel caught the stirrup and pulled herself on to Beleg's back. As she mounted she spat on Vanya who was sitting in the dust. Mordel galloped off into the trees and went by secret ways until she was she they couldn't find her, killing all who did. Then she set out towards where The Wanderer was to be.

~*~

Legolas and Emer were brought before the warrior woman and her clan. Emer was white-faced. She held Legolas' hand. The warriors watched to see if Legolas would reach for an arrow.

"You were being followed," said the warrior woman who was obviously their leader. Her teeth gnashed together. "The woman following you got away."

Emer heard how the woman bit down on the last two words, it was obvious she was not accustomed to someone giving her the slip, and Emer could easily see why. These people were bold, and strong, and armed to the teeth with weapons, some of them of a sort she had never seen or heard of before.

"Why are you being followed?" the woman continued.

"We are on the run, from the Lord of Mordor," Legolas answered, his voice guarded.

"Any enemy of the Dark Eye is a friend of ours. The woman following you was an agent of his. That much was obvious, or she would never have gotten away. Where are you bound?"

"Eriador."

"That is our land. You will not escape his foul gaze there. Lindorinand is under siege, surrounded by Orcs. We go there, to defend against them."

Lothlorien, under attack? Emer was ashen, and gripped Legolas' hand even tighter, numb with shock.

"Rivendell, my home, was destroyed by the Dark Lord only weeks ago, consumed by fire," said Legolas.

"You and your woman are welcome to travel with us," the woman answered. "You will gain more safety in our strength than in Eriador. There is no safe place, anymore. Soon all strongholds will be fortified, and there will be war."

Emer's hand went protectively to her belly, and she looked up at Legolas.

Legolas was torn. Lothlorien was the jewel of Elvenkind, it would be unbearable to see it attacked, destroyed. Most important to him was protecting Emer and their unborn child. There were none to help them in the far north, at least in Lorien they would be among their own kind.

Legolas relented. They settled quickly in with the warrior tribe, quiet and watchful. 

"I hope I am not making a grave misstep," he said to Emer. "Do you want to go to Lorien, or continue on as we were?"

"Where you will," Emer mumbled in reply, when she wanted to shriek, "Let us go North, where none ever come, so I may live the rest of my life by your side, let the land be devoured by war so long as I can be with you . . ."

But she did not say that, and she knew such hope was folly, and sat quietly with her head down as Legolas spoke softly with the warriors and Emer kept her head down, knowing what was in heart must surely show in her eyes. She felt out of place as a raincloud in summer here in this armed camp. A Shaman of the tribe approached her, inquiring about her health, placing a hand over her belly, offering food. Legolas stayed nearby, glancing back at her occasionally. She gave him a watery smile, looking away, thinking back on these days past with him and never wanting them to end. Her hair fell like a veil, hiding her face from him so he could not see that her eyes stung with tears, nor how much she wished they were back in that moonlit field, alone.

Elodin watched the girl, Emer, with sorrow. It was plain to see she was deeply in love with the one called Legolas, and that she was frightened.

He brought her some sweetened water and urged her to drink.

"It's good for the child," he said. "When Vanya was pregnant I used to bring her water in the middle of the night, she said it tasted better than any wine."

The girl relaxed somewhat, drinking hungrily, though her eyes were still guarded.

"How many children do you have?" she asked hesitantly.

"Two. Tolar, our youngest, I will introduce you to him. Aidan is our daughter, she is off on a quest to the North."

"Are they both warriors?"

"Yes. Your lover is kind, Legolas. Even though he is not of Mirkwood, as we are."

"How did you know I was from Mirkwood?"

"Like knows like, sister. Drink. It is good for the child. What he wants most is water, and the sound of your voice. Do you sing to him, and speak to him?"

She nodded shyly, as if he had uncovered some hidden secret. "Yes, sometimes."

Elodin smiled. "That is well, for such nourishment is all he needs to thrive. When he is born, and looks into your eyes for the first time, you will know all about each other already. You will know a love unlike any other, like the love of Iluvatar for us, for this bond was created in that likeness, and is but a smaller version of it."

"You're very kind," she said, so softly he could barely hear her, and he knew her throat closed on tears.

"Don't worry so. All will be well. It is easily seen that Legolas would lay down his life for you.

"You will find the same is true of us. Ah, here comes Tolar now."

His son bounded up, full of comments about the Greyflood, and questions about when they would leave. He smiled quickly at Emer in the way of children, and sat beside her.


	45. The Circle of Mages

****

Chapter Forty-five

The Circle of Mages. Wiyaun.

"Wait!" cried Ayala, a pain in her voice she had trouble hiding. There were flowers in her hands . . .

"What shall we do now? Nothing seems to be going right since we left Rivendell . . . what hope have we if we go anywhere?"

Loiosh flew towards Ayala, taking the flowers, and dropped it onto her head.

"There now," said Vlad, who had been quiet for a long time. "There is our hope. A hope for a future, filled with flowers of joy . . . need I say more?"

__

:You're really poetic, boss.:

:Stuff it, Loiosh.:

Ayala did not reply with words, but raised herself into her Companion's saddle. 

"Let's be off," said Ierik.

"But to where? Do we go to Mordor . . . or to Lothlorien?" asked Lunea.

"We shall continue upon our path to Mordor," said Syntoc, his voice sounding tired. 

In several seconds, they were riding once more. 

Finally Vlad asked, "What is the Circle?"

Ierik, John, and Lunea looked at him. 

"Persistent, aren't we?" said Lunea.

"I'd like to know."

Ierik and John looked at Lunea, who shrugged.

"The Circle of Mages . . . is very hard to explain. You see, each of us Mages will be given a test. When the test is completed . . ."

"But you don't know what the test is?" he interrupted.

"No. Each person goes through a different test, somehow connected to our power. My test shall be connected to time, for instance . . ."

"And what happens when the test is completed?"

"Something . . . very painful. Vlad . . . each time we are tested . . . we die. We are reborn into another world, though our powers will forever be connected to this world. We forget who we were . . . and only later shall the memory be returned to us."

Vlad sat straight in his saddle, his eyes wide with shock.

"You forget? This doesn't make sense!"

Lunea sighed. "Of course not . . . not to you. But by testing us . . . we create the Circle for this land . . ."

"But what can the Circle do?"

"Our powers can be transferred into another warrior . . . and we can draw power from the land," she said hesitantly.

"But you won't remember anything!"

"Not till later. We eventually do . . ."

"This . . . makes no sense!" cried Vlad.

"No," said Lunea smiling. "The third reason is it also helps the Mage of Silence choose his side."

"What?"

"The Mage of Silence. The strongest of us. He is not reborn, but will choose sides in the end to who he will help. We chose the light a long time ago, but if the Circle is not formed . . ."

Vlad had grown pale. "I don't think I want to know."

Lunea shrugged.

Ayala and her Companion stopped abruptly, looking around. Ayala's eyes were distant.

"What is it, Ayala?" asked John.

"I thought . . . I felt a presence that I have not felt in a long time . . ."

"Who?"

Ayala did not answer.

Draco tried to catch Syntoc's eye. Who was the Mage of Silence? And where was he now? Draco reined in next to Ayala. She looked as faraway as Syntoc, but in a different way. Draco felt his heart wrench, remembering the way she had looked when Legolas was near, and wondering where he was now and why he had left the way he had done.

"Are you thinking of him?" Draco asked, and immediately felt himself a fool. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that. It's just that, well, I sort of liked him, I was just getting to know him," he blundered, his face burning.

Ayala turned her eyes to Draco. They held a faraway look.

"I am always thinking of him . . . but at this moment, I am sensing something different. It feels like . . . my brother, Ayon. But that's impossible . . . he went over seas . . ."

Tinviel shook her head. Ayala's eyes cleared a little. 

"I understand your feeling, Draco. There are many things Legolas will have to explain when we see him again . . ."

~*~

Wiyuan flew through the air, the wind beating on his wings oddly. There was something that seemed to move him. He followed it and saw some Elves moving silently through the trees. He flew closer . . . one of them was familiar.

"Ayon!!" he cried from the air.

Ayon laughed joyfully, his arm uplifted. As if Ayala had come to him. Seeing Wiyaun was the next best thing.

Wiyaun lit on his arm, and Ayon sat, cross-legged.

Small celebrations had sprung up around the Golden Wood after the defeat of the Orcs, but every eye was still watchful and guarded. Ayon had only left his post long enough for a drink of water.

"What did you see from overhead, Wiyaun? And what of Ayala, my sister? How does she fare? Is she safe?"

"Hail, Ayon. What have I seen? You, of course. And some foul Orcs. They did not appreciate me."

Wiyaun seemed to hesitate. "Ayala . . . is not well. Her Companion has told me . . . some things . . ."

Ayon's face hardened.

"What has happened? What is this Companion? Has it hurt her?" Ayon asked.

Wiyaun eyed Ayon. "A Companion does not hurt its Herald. It is a healer Companion. Very rare. It was Legolas who hurt her."

Ayon remained silent.

"What has he done?" he asked quietly.

"I cannot say. All her Companion would say was Ayala was hurt by Legolas. Now, to your last question. She is not safe. She heads to Mordor."

"Has the whole world gone mad?" cried Ayon. "Fly to her, Wiyaun! Now. Tell her not to enter Mordor. She will cause herself much harm there. I feel it. Go and fly swift! I shall find you somehow!"

Without another word, Wiyaun took off towards the Fellowship heading towards Mordor.

~*~

Ayala stood very still, hearing a voice, once in a while, blurry. 

"Is the Dark Lord doing this to me? First he takes my lover, now he is making me believe I hear my brother?"

A single tear fell down her face, but she wiped it quickly away. She looked up to hear a Hawk cry and raised her arm. Wiyaun landed.

"Lady, a message from your brother."

"What?" cried Ayala. 

"Your brother returned from over Seas. He told me not to allow you to enter Mordor. He said he would find you . . ."

"Then it was not a dream . . . my brother is alive!!"

She looked to the others. 

__

:Wait, Chosen. Wait for your brother. I do not believe your path leads to Mordor.:

"But, Tinuviel . . .!" she cried outloud, using the Companion's real name. Ayala stopped. "You're right. I will wait for my brother, then talk to him . . . forgive me . . . my companions."

She looked to them, those who she had traveled with. 

Vlad smiled to her. "Do what you think is best. That's normally the right path."


	46. The Circle Meets

****

Chapter Forty-six

Lorien prepares. Barad-dur. The Circle meets.

Celebrations after the victory were short lived, and the Elves began to gird themselves for war, for it approached as surely as autumn creeping.

Runners were sent out, brave and swift, to Mirkwood, and other havens, so that they might become one single unified force. Arwen planned next to bring the Men of Gondor and Rohan into the fold.

She walked all that night the length and breadth of Lorien, the sweet, fragrant air penetrating her soul, bolstering her for all that was to come, softening what lay behind. She lay down beneath a great Mallorn, and listened to the sighing of the breeze between the branches, and the spinning dance of the leaves themselves, she watched. The moon danced between. There was deep harmony here, in the Golden Wood, an ephemeral, timeless beauty that must never be lost, or damaged. The heart of darkness could not penetrate here, yet. The Mages Arwen would call upon to keep it so.

The music of the leaves, though peaceful, filled her with a sense of urgency, as if whispering that she must be off as soon as may be, to keep their song from perishing from all Arda.

She got to her feet, and ran. She rode out that night alone, and those at the watch hailed her and wished her hale journey, they did not question her purpose, knowing she must go her own way now. Her father would look after Lorien as he did all things, with a gentle wisdom and an unfailing heart. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her hair and leaned into the wind.

~*~

Elrond's expression was inscrutable upon hearing from the watch that Arwen had ridden out alone in the night. He sent a party of the swiftest riders to follow her trail. How could she have left without taking a guard with her, without saying goodbye? She must be brought back, so he could keep her safe.

He took his watch, riding around the perimeter of Lorien, through rushing fords and the ancient graveyards of trees. The remnants of the battle with the Orcs had been cleared. The Golden Wood was thriving with new life, and joy sprang up like the tough flowers that grow in the cracks of the rock. Elrond longed for the Last Homely House, and grieved its loss, and the loss of Rivendell and all the memories it held. And he prayed, that Arwen would be found swiftly and brought back, or escorted safely to Minas Tirith if she would not return. His headstrong, beautiful daughter, who would never listen to reason, and look what it had gotten her. Aragorn, gone, and Arwen bereft, so that she sought death unknowingly.

~*~

Steam rose in the darkness. 

"I will be Ulmo's Bane," Intathin whispered. His voice could resound with a deeper sweetness than any Elf's, when he wished it. "I will boil the oceans, and bring order . . ."

He watched, in the eye of crystal, the orb reaching tendrils out to touch upon the petty little dramas of those who would soon bend the knee to him. Geharion, speeding toward the North, the lathe of heaven under his wings. The Golden Horde, coming within his sphere of influence at last. Emer and Legolas in their company. Legolas, reaching for the girl he had sworn never to touch again, drawing her into his embrace, into love, Emer, arching her back in exquisite ecstasy . . .

Grool, taking his pleasure with the maiden of Gondor, maiden no longer, screaming, her face contorted with fear and agony, and where were the bold Men of Gondor now, now as Grool impaled her against the rock, roaring with pleasure, the seeds of a new race already within her. Grool, loyal servant . . .

Arwen, riding alone, the ripest of fruit awaiting the harvest . . .

Intathin lifted the White Gem of Galadriel, and summoned the shadows, the deceivers, to bring Arwen hither. She would not know their true being, until it was too late. Bound for Gondor she was not, but Mordor. A prize worthy of Intathin himself.

A loyal spy he had, well placed in Minas Tirith.

Strong still, but not for long. Lorien had slipped from his grasp, and the Silmaril, hidden.

Arwen would lead him to it, or see her walled city in smoking ruins, and the Golden Wood a fetid waste.

The White Gem began to glow, and their came a deep musical timbre to Intathin's chanting. 

The Circle of Mages must not form, so soon after he had sundered the Council of the Wise . . .

~*~

It was a meeting that many did not know took place, a meeting unlike any. All of the Mages went to a place away from any other. Had they been looked for, no one would find them . . .

Silverstar's eyes shown with anger. 'That is it? You tell us the Dark Lord's mind, but say there is not much we can do?'

"Yes, Silverstar. That is exactly what I mean," said Kazushe. 

"This is tearing so many people apart," said Lunea sadly. "Is there nothing we can do?"

Kazushe sighed and closed his eyes. 

"Look, damnit!" cried Ghim. "You are the strongest of us . . . never reborn because you are a Vampire! We need your help!"

"Ghim . . ." sighed Kazushe.

"No."

"What do you wish me to say? To turn completely to the Light? How do I know it is not time for this world to be reborn?"

"Through the testing," said Ierik weakly.

"Since the beginning of time, we know what we live for," said Sakura. "No matter how many times we are reborn, we shall find each other."

Sakura took Ghim's hand. Kazushe remained silent, his eyes full of sorrow. Finally, "I understand. I understand the pain they go through...all of them . . . and all of you. The testing shall not go on forever . . ."

"And we understand how hard it is upon you," said Momo. "Though this isn't your world, the people remind you of it."

"The testing . . ." said Silvermoon.

Kazushe sighed. "Yes . . . the testing. The Circle must be formed."

No more words were needed. All left to their respective areas. Kazushe had begun to choose.


	47. Hope

****

Chapter Forty-seven

Hope

Emer woke, filled with indescribable happiness and hope, hope that he would learn to love her after all, hope that she would not have dared to feel before. She knew that he still thought of Ayala, always. She knew that she had been the vessel of evil, but the evil had been poured out, and there was only room for him now, and his son.

Her fingers still tangled in his hair, she closed her eyes and snuggled against him. He had reached for her in the night, and she was happy. He was here and that was all that mattered, was all that would ever matter. She drifted back to sleep and dreamed.

_Luthan stood, mountains rising from earth behind him. He was tall, and dark-haired, and held a sword in his left hand. Someone was coming up behind him, in dark armor. His face was unseen, and he raised a black sword to strike Luthan down._

Emer ran toward him, calling his name, crying out a warning, but Luthan did not see or hear her. The sword sliced downward with a whistling hiss.

Emer's eyes flew open. Legolas still slept beside her.

~*~

Legolas was in dismay, filled with self-contempt at his own weakness. How easily his resolve had cracked until it was gone, until he had found his hands in her hair, and taken her into his arms, where he could once again hurt her by filling her with hope. Ayala would never see him as anything but a betrayer now. Legolas knew Emer's hope, for it was the very one he nurtured every time he thought of Ayala. And here was Emer, who had given him her heart, and left her life behind, for him. Emer never spoke now of her teacher, Silverstar, and the deep desire she had had to become a healer. Legolas had brought her life to ruins in the space of a night, because of his desire for her, his desire which the Dark Lord had twisted into a weapon, a weapon that was in many ways more powerful than any tempered by fire. Love was tempered in the forge of the heart. Perhaps the Dark Lord knew his doings better than people credited.

Ayala Proudbow he would likely never meet again, and if he did he would not be able to bear the contempt she would hold him in. To Luthan, his son, grandson of Thranduil, he must bequeath some measure of pride, and to his mother, some security.

He would give her his heart as much as he could, after one night in the moonlight that had changed the course of both their lives so inexorably.

When the Horde stopped at the noon hour to water their horses and feed their children, Legolas drew Emer aside.

"Emer," he said gently. "I have given you nothing in return for all you give me, a son, which is no small thing but the greatest in all a man's life, and I have done nothing for you, but turn away when you give me such proclamations of love, indeed they are such any man would dream of . . . You know that to Ayala I had pledged my troth, but she will never look on me again in this lifetime, and you are the mother of Luthan, my son, and my honor is in shambles. If I do nothing else right, let me do this, and ask you to join with me and give you my name, if you will accept it, and try to return the love you so freely give me, the love I do not deserve." He waited without breath as her eyes grew wide.

Emer flew into his arms. "Yes, I will join with you," she answered breathlessly. She was not fooled into thinking he longer cared for Ayala; she knew better, but she also hoped, hoped that he had finally seen how much she loved him and wanted to be with him, and if she could not have his whole heart, she would take whatever he gave her, she would stay by his side, forever. And as time passed, one day he would tell her he loved her too, and nothing else at all would matter in this world, nothing but him and their son and all that happiness that was coming if Legolas would just let his guard down enough to let it happen. If he never did, Emer would still love him and honor him, as she had since the first day she saw him in Fangorn. This was all she had wished for since that day, and now they would be joined.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and Emer looked ahead, longing to see the golden canopy of the Mallorn. It was the happiest day of her life. Her love she would marry, and she would see Lorien for the first time. She knew that Luthan could feel her joy, and she smiled.

~*~

Vanya watched the two Elves talking soberly as she cut small pieces of cheese and fruit for Tolar to eat. The female Elf, Emer, looked at her mate with the sort of love that was spoken of in songs. Vanya was unsure why the sight disturbed her. Tolar was impatient and would not sit still, and he chattered about the new country they had seen, and took delight in the new foods they had tried, and questioned her about the Elven woman's child, asking if he would be a warrior too.

"In the times that are coming all will bear arms against the Dark One," Vanya answered.

"Who is the Dark One, Mother?"

"No one knows, my son. He is someone who seeks to destroy the peace of the lands, and bring all the races under his rule."

"What a stupid thing to do," came Tolar's childlike observation. "What would you do with all the people of Arda once you had them? And how would you make enough cheese for them all?"

"Indeed it seems so. Sometimes, Tolar, men of power seek an ever greater power, for deep within they feel they are nothing without it. Sometimes a man who takes satisfaction from what life has given him will want nothing more than to enjoy the bounty of what he has already received. And others, who are empty inside, seek to fill that emptiness with what they cannot have. Do you understand, my son?"

"I think so. I think Emer's son will be a man of great power, a man that others will follow, otherwise that creature would not be following us, and watching her."

"What creature is this?"

"A sort of mongrel, with large eyes; he hides in the shadows; he is a fast runner; when he saw me watching he ran like a hare into the woods. Maybe it is one of the creatures who lives there. Oh Mother, can we go and find him? He is so ugly, you must see him . . ."

"No. You must tell me immediately if you see him again. Do you understand, Tolar?"

Tolar looked hurt at the way she snapped back. Tolar was of the Horde, he must learn that they did not soften what was meant to be harsh. Vanya watched the Elves again. The bond that was between them was undeniable to see.

They packed quickly and moved on again, following the river Nimrodel now. With one great effort, they would reach Lindorinand by nightfall.

~*~

Deagol loped along, hissing and snarling. Hard it was to follow these people, now the Elves had gone among them, and they moved with great speed, and all of them were armored with shiny weapons, and the child, the wretched child, always he saw Deagol, and Deagol thought that he was caught more than once.

Deagol was in despair, for they were going right toward the Elvenwood, and he could not enter there, he dared not enter there, or the bright eyes of the Elves would strike him dead, dead, their fierce light, ooh it was horrid to see, and the trees there, they whispered, and they would take away his shiny silver leaves, the ones he had taken from the Elf girl.

Still his master bid him to follow, so he would, as far as he could.


	48. Arrival at Lorien

****

Chapter Forty-eight

Arrival at Lorien

Elrond wept when the riders returned, for it was all in their faces before ever they spoke. Arwen had not been sighted, nor found.

They spoke reassuringly that she could yet arrive safely in Minas Tirith, and of how well she knew the roads, but Elrond's grief was not assuaged.

More riders were sent out, to look in places they had not looked yet, in case she lay injured some ways off the road, but Elrond knew this was not to be hoped for either.

Great strength had been gained from the clear waters of the Celebrant, and the Ents were rejuvenated. Graybough stood near when Elrond wept. Too much had been taken from the Elves, the loss of the refuge of Imladris, and now the daughter of Elrond, whom all knew to be his heart's pride and the reason for his return, captured by the Enemy.

Graybough stepped forward, his voice deep and booming, as he offered to take the search party to Mordor, and aid them as well as protect them. Elrond seemed gladdened by this act, and Graybough set off with them with no further ado, carrying them in his strong limbs so they would have no need of horses. The Ents had never forgotten that the Elves gave them voice long ago, even though their ways had parted since. A slow sadness crept through his limbs at leaving the fair woods behind. It was less fair without the daughter of Elrond, and so she must be restored to it as soon as may be, if she yet lived.

~*~

The sun had been gone for many hours when the Golden Horde at least came into view of Lorien. Legolas was in the lead now, his woman asleep, her arms around his neck. They were all weary, and the sight of Lorien lifted their spirits.

Elodin saw the eyes of many archers in the trees, and waited for Legolas to introduce them, so they would not be slain before they could dismount.

He looked at Vanya, whose eyes were full of approval at this military greeting, and at the foot patrols of Elves marching on the ground.

A regal Elf approached, and Elodin knew this could only be Elrond.

"Hail Elrond," said Legolas. "We heard of the attack, and came as quickly as we could. These are the warriors of the Golden Horde, from Eriador. Their leader, Vanya, and Vanya's husband, Elodin, whom I believe you know from days past."

Elrond eyed Elodin cautiously before recognition dawned. They clasped forearms in greeting.

"The Golden Horde," said Elrond mystified. "I thought such stories of them were only that . . . stories."

"We are quite real," said Elodin, smiling. "What of the attack?"

"We forced them back, though not without cost; some of our best archers were slain. They built towers around, seeking to hem us in and keep us under siege. A great host of Uruk-hai from Mordor."

Elodin's eyes grew black at his. "And you seek a stronghold here after the destruction of Rivendell?"

Elrond nodded. "And my daughter, Arwen, rode out only last evening and has not arrived at Minas Tirith, nor has she been seen anywhere in between, nor in Rohan. I fear for her, and have sent out searchers, borne by an Ent."

"That is well. We, too, will offer aid in finding her, and our military prowess here, in defense of Lorien. I am sorry we were not here in time to aid you during the battle, Elrond."

"You are here now, and we are stronger for it. Come, follow me, and share the hospitality here."

He glanced up at Emer, asleep against Legolas still. They followed him wearily into the wood, and ladders were let down, and they took up residence in the talon, the tree-homes of the Mallorn.

~*~

Legolas and Emer had been given a spacious flet all to themselves.

"This is beautiful," said Emer, her voice soft and sleepy sounding.

There was a soft bed, and Legolas drew Emer to it, and she laid down, her auburn hair spread out like a fan. He wrapped her up in his cloak, though it was not cold, and touched her cheek.

"I will bring you some water," he said, and in spite of all the many misgivings in his heart, his own voice was tender. There was a tall flagon of water nearby, and he poured her a generous gobletful. She drank it hungrily.

"I could go and find you something to eat if you hunger," he offered. She shook her head and drew him into the bed, and he held her. The wind sighed through the Mallorn trees, and it seemed to him a song of endless yearning, a yearning of the Firstborn to see the face of their maker once again. Emer's hair flowed like silk through his fingers, and he trailed one fingertip over her face, a soft white in the waning moonlight. As always, she drove every other thought from his mind, and he made love to her with abandon now, now that she would be his, and they would be joined. It was not until she slept that he allowed himself to think of Ayala, and long he thought, watching the stars through the boughs of the trees.


	49. The Joining

****

Chapter Forty-nine

The Joining

Emer woke, joyous at the way it had been between them last night. She stood, stretching, and took in her surroundings. Legolas had gone off somewhere.

She walked to the edge of the flet and drew the branches aside, taking a deep breath at the beauty that met her. She laid a hand over her stomach.

"I think you have grown overnight, little one," she said softly. "Luthan, perhaps this place will be your home, this wondrous place, it would suit you to grow up here among these golden trees, for your name means 'golden-hearted.' And so you are to me, the greatest treasure that ever was. I cannot wait to see you. I hope that we can stay here, here it is safe, and you will be surrounded by love and protection. But someday I will show you Mirkwood the Silent, where I come from, it is very different from this place, yet also beautiful."

Emer could barely contain her happiness, today she and Legolas would be joined. They would not ask Elrond now to perform the ceremony, his heart was too heavy at Arwen's disappearance. A shadow crossed Emer's face, if Luthan were ever to vanish it would tear the heart out of her. For now he was safe and rode under her heart.

"I will sing to you, a song of Gondor, which mothers sing to their children. It is a little sad, for the lives of Men are short, fleeting moments compared to our own."

She sat, her legs dangling over the edge of the platform, and sang.

__

Once you had gold, once you had silver

Then came the rains out of the blue

Ever and always, always and ever

Time gave both darkness and dreams to you.

Now you can see, Spring becomes Autumn

Leaves become gold, falling from view

Ever and always, always and ever

No one can promise a dream come true

Time gave both darkness and dreams to you.

What is the dark, shadows around you

Why not take heart, in the new day?

Ever and always, always and ever

No one can promise a dream for you

Time gave both darkness and dreams to you . . .

~*~

Legolas waited for Emer near the banks of the river, listening to its song. Elodin and Vanya stood by, as witnesses. Elodin would preside over their joining. It was a simple affair, yet deeply meaningful.

Legolas watched as Emer appeared and came toward them. Her hair shone, and a ring of flowers sat brightly on her brow. Legolas could not help but smile at her beauty and her obvious happiness.

They stood before each other, hand in hand, as Elodin read the Lay of Joining in the Elven tongue, and looked into each other's eyes. The sonnet's Elodin read spoke of the great love of Thingol and Melian, who stood together long years under the enchantment of love before running off together.

They were given a cup of wine to drink together, and it was passed to Elodin and Vanya, the Cup of Joy. Afterwards it was destroyed, that none else may drink from it.

They knelt, facing each other, and Elodin drew a knife and cut a deep gash across the palm of Emer's right hand and Legolas' left. Their palms were bound together, fingers interlaced, so that their blood mingled, and Elodin tied a silver cord around their wrists, symbolic of the unseen ties that now bound them.

Legolas knew not how long they knelt together so, for the joining seems to those who undergo it to be a moment out of time, and theirs alone. Their lips met, and he kissed her long, while their blood melded, their fingers wound together. She sighed with happiness and laid her head on his shoulder while Elodin untied the silver cord.

Legolas took from Emer's hair the crown of flowers, replacing it with a garland of green stones from Mirkwood, a symbol that he was now hers and she was part of his family, for all his family's heraldry was in the filigree and etchings of the silver leaves between the green stones. The taking of the flowers also symbolized the loss of innocence. Her eyes shone when he placed it on her head.

"Joyous union," said Elodin, and Legolas embraced Emer. Legolas thanked Elodin and Vanya for taking part in the rites. A horse waited nearby to bear them off for one night alone.

They rode deep into Lorien, stopping as they wished, until they found a pond surrounded by willow trees. The trees were ancient and stooped over the water, their fronds trailing across the surface as if blessing it. Beneath their shade, Emer and Legolas hid themselves away. It was as if no one else existed anymore to her, her heart was full of him, and the boundless joy she had felt when they had first run off together was magnified, now that they were joined.

They swam, and ate when they wanted, and talked for long hours, and Emer was happy, impossibly happy, just to be with him.

~*~

Deagol crept round the trunks of trees, oh this was a horrible nasty place full of wicked Elves, Elves on the ground, Elves in the trees, always they were singing, and it hurt his ears so that he sat with his hands splayed over them, rocking back and forth in some unseen place, avoiding their bright gazes, and bright voices, and noise.

Deagol followed most closely the Elven girl, the girl who had a shiny net of silver and green in her hair now, oh Deagol wanted and coveted it, but Legolas, cruel Legolas, was always nearby, pawing at her, and Deagol watched them cleave to each other, fingering the shiny leaves around his neck that he had taken from the girl, but never the chance came to take the pretty thing in her hair now.

O, the Dark Lord was cruel, cruel to force him here, where all was hurtful and wicked, except for the cool ponds full of fat juicy fish, and Deagol ate his fill. He would leave soon, the Dark Lord could not make him stay here forever in this horrid place.

~*~

Late that night, Vanya and Elodin were on the watch, keeping secure the border of Lindorinand.

"What troubles you, Vanya?" Elodin suddenly asked.

"I was just thinking about the joining of the two Elves today, and of the sonnet you spoke to them. I could understand little of it. Will you tell it to me?"

Weddings in the Horde were brief affairs in which weapons were exchanged and a pledge of loyalty and love was made. Vanya had never seen a wedding of the sort they had witnessed today, and it left her with a strange warmth. She could not seem to stop thinking about it, the way they had drawn together after the cutting of their hands, as if they were one being and nothing could separate them.

"I would be happy to say it again," Elodin answered. He said again the words he had said before Legolas and Emer, in the Common tongue.

__

Sorrow was beautiful, but her beauty was the beauty of the moonlight shining through the leafy branches of the trees in the wood, and making little pools of silver here and there on the soft moss below. When Sorrow sang, her notes were like the sweet call of the nightingale, and in her eyes was the unexpectant gaze of one who has ceased to look for coming gladness. She could weep in tender sympathy with those who wept, but to rejoice with those who rejoiced was unknown to her.

Joy was beautiful too, but his was the radiant beauty of the summer morning. His eyes still held the glad laughter of children, and his hair had the glint of the sunshine's kiss. When Joy sang, his voice soared upward as the lark's, and his step was the step of the conqueror who has never known defeat. He could rejoice with those who rejoiced, but to weep with those who wept was unknown to him.

"But we can never be united," said Sorrow wistfully.

"No, never." And Joy's eyes shadowed as he spoke. "My path lies through sunlit meadows, the sweetest roses bloom for my gathering, and the bluebirds and thrushes await my coming to pour forth their most joyous lays."

"My path," said Sorrow, turning slowly away, "leads through the darkening woods, with moon-flowers only shall my hand be filled, farewell, Joy, farewell."

Even as she spoke, a oneness grew between them, and a great awe stole over them, and they sank to their knees in the presence of love.

"All my sorrow is melting away to a deathless love and gladness," said she.

"Sorrow with you must be sweeter than any joy I have ever known," said he.

"We are one," they cried in gladness, and hand in hand they passed out into the world, as the winter bleakness and the summer gladness, sorrowful and rejoicing, as one.

At the end of their watch, Vanya and Elodin returned to the tent city of the Horde, near the dwelling of Elrond. They stood over their sleeping son and smiled. He had made many friends among the Elven children here already, and one of them slept beside him, a small bow and arrow nearby. A dark haired child who could be Tolar's brother.

Vanya took Elodin's hand, and they went back outside. "I think still on the words you said earlier, the words of the Lay of Joining. I do not tell you often enough how I love you, Elodin, and how it feels knowing I must part from you one day. When Tolar is an old man, you will still be young, yet if I were to gain the gift of immortality, even that would not be enough time with you."

She kissed him with great passion, and laughed at his stunned expression at her outburst of affection. Warriors valued love all the more, because their life was fleeting and their mortality defined their very existence. She had never told him how she had felt all these years, and now, when the Great War was coming, she felt a relief that he knew at last.

Disclaimer: The song used in this chapter is by Enya.


	50. Beginning of the Healing

****

Chapter Fifty

Beginning of the Healing

Ayon and Ayala had been born from one single essence, twins, something rare and prized among their kind. They had grown knowing each other's hearts, feeling each other's pain. How was it Ayon did not know Ayala had suffered such a hurt, now when she needed him most?

He exhaled, sending images to her, testing the connection between them, which had been diminished when he had gone overseas with Elrond. How bitterly he regretted it now.

So he tried to tell her in a way no one but she would understand all that had occurred; the attack on Lorien and their preparations to defend it, the symbiosis that the Elves had found with the land.

He told her too of his journey back over the Sea with Elrond, and the army they had brought back.

His anger with Legolas he kept hidden, for he would deal with Legolas on his own terms if the chance arose.

_:Come to Lorien, Sister,: _he called. _:Here it is safe, here is our heart, a shining haven in the darkness.:_ He smiled, eyes closed, knowing the words had found their way home to her heart. If she would follow them, Ayon did not know, but only hoped.

~*~

Ayala began to move away from the party, then stopped. She felt herself torn again. "I want to go . . ." she said.

"Then go," said Lunea.

Ayala looked at her.

"He's right, you know. You should go to Lothlorien. That is where your path lies. Not with us."

Ayala's eyes grew distant for several seconds, then cleared. "Thank you," she said. "I will go."

"I'll tell your companions. They will understand. Go now. And . . ." Lunea put her hand on Tinviel's head. "I do not think I shall see you again. Not in his reincarnation, at least. Good luck."

Before Ayala could reply, her Companion rode off.

_:Is it always like this? Always the pain and the loss?: _she asked.

_:The pure always have the hardest road, Ayala. I knew you had to leave the party. There're . . . a lot of things ahead of us. A difficult road. And we shall face it together. Now, hold on. I shall be moving very fast to meet your brother. Wiyaun showed me the way.:_

In a burst of energy, Tinviel rode hard. Ayala felt dizzy and closed her eyes. Time seemed to stand still and before she knew it, Tinviel had stopped. When she opened her eyes, she saw her brother. Ayon stood nearby, his head cocked to the side, his eyes wide in surprise.

"This . . . is a Companion?" he said.

Ayala jumped down and ran to her brother. She began to cry when he returned the embrace. "I thought I would not see you for a long time! So much has happened in such a short time!"

"I know a bit of that," said Ayon, his voice suddenly cold. "Though I do not understand."

_:Tell him that we will travel together, Chosen. I can carry both of you, and you can talk along the way. I know the way to Lothlorien.:_

"Tinviel says that she will carry both of us to Lothlorien," Ayala said, her mind whirling in confusion.

Without another word, they mounted Tinviel, and heading towards Lothlorien, Ayala told Ayon about the journey so far as she knew. Here with her twin brother, there was no need to keep the pain, both physical and mental, out of her voice and mind, and she spoke of the betrayal of Legolas. There was a stabbing sensation in her heart that she could not deny any longer. She managed to keep her stance like a soldier, sitting tall and her head held high. Still the tears flowed freely down her cheeks, and her skin turned white as newly fallen snow.

"I felt your pain," Ayon commented at last. Beneath his ribs came a twisting surge, as though a knife has slipped into his heart. Ayala's close proximity intensified the bond they had shared since before birth; it was almost as if they shared a heart. The time he had spent across the Sea, while wondrous, had also brought a deep grief with their separation. Ayon regretted it bitterly, especially now that Ayala had been hurt so deeply.

Regret was something that Legolas Greenleaf would come to know when Ayon met him again. None of this fit with the Legolas he had met; the son of Thranduil, as Ayon knew him, had been serene, not this self-absorbed person Ayala had just described. Perhaps there was more to the story than Ayala had just let on. Ayon would get to the bottom of it somehow. Those who hurt Ayala hurt him.

This Companion of Ayala's moved with a great speed and unearthly grace. Ayon wondered where he could find one for himself.

"One must be sent to you," quipped Ayala, and Ayon laughed.

"You always could read my mind, my sister. It would be quite annoying if I hadn't missed it so. I should not have parted from you, Ayala, though I know our lives must take different paths, in the end. What we share could not be understood or explained to anyone."

They felt silent, these two people who had know each other since before birth, and were closer even than lovers could be. Wherever life took them, they would always be at home with each other.

~*~

__

:Good morning,: said a cheerful voice in Ayala's head. _:You are a sleepy-head . . .:_

Ayala shook her head and heard Ayon laugh.

"Have a nice sleep?" he asked.

Ayala scowled. "Have you been talking to my Companion?"

Ayon's face became thoughtful. "Sometimes I think I can hear her . . ." he said. His face suddenly broke out into a wide grin. " . . .. when she does not block me completely."

_:I hadn't realized what a strong bond you two had . . .: _said Tinviel.

_:It is stronger when we are close, Tinviel.:_

:Yes . . . I understand . . .: the Companion said.

"Tinviel . . ." said Ayon softly. "Tinviel . . . Tinuviel . . . am I right?"

Tinviel did not reply.

"Yes. She is the reincarnation of Tinuviel . . ." said Ayala.

_:Come to heal your sister,: _said the Companion. _:Her lover made a nice mess of her emotions, and Ayala is going to play an important role in all this. When we see Legolas again, things shall not go smoothly . . .:_

"No," said Ayon coldly. "It shall not."

Ayala turned to look at her brother as best as she could. His eyes were cold and his face was grim, but she could not read his mind. "Ayon . . . I do not . . ."

"Leave it me. I have a score to settle . . ."

"Ayon!"

"Leave it."

Ayala began to tremble a little. She knew that tone of voice, one that left no room for questions . . . "When shall we reach Lothlorien?" she asked quietly at last.

"Before dawn tomorrow," he answered darkly. He fervently hoped Legolas Greenleaf was to be found in Lorien. If he was not, Ayon would continue to search until he found him. And when he did . . .

He turned away from this train of thought, seeing how it hurt Ayala. He would deal with Legolas alone.

"Look there, Sister, in the distance. The great city of Minas Tirith." They stopped for a short while to gaze, then rode on.

_:You should not seek vengeance against your sister's beloved,: _said Tinviel.

_:Try and stop me,: _was Ayon's mental reply.

Tinviel shook her head. _:I might,: _she said to Ayon, blocking Ayala from her mind.

Ayala looked from one to the other, her eyes full of curiosity, mingled with fear. "My hand is bleeding again . . ." she said softly, at last.

_:That's because you did not heal it properly when you cut it,: _said the Companion.

"Cutting one's self," said Ayon, reciting as if lecturing small children, "can symbolize two things . . . the joining of two souls by mingling each other's blood . . ."

"Or great pain received by another," finished Ayala, her voice low. Ayala slow redid the bandages.

_:At least you did not try to commit suicide,: _said Tinviel. _:Some try that when they are depressed . . . Herald-Mage Vanyel attempted to commit suicide when his lifebond . . . died. I guess I should not say 'died.' He didn't. He committed suicide after a series of awful events. Vanyel's lifebond shared a bond with his brother . . . similar to you two. When he died, Vanyel's lifebond went crazy and tried to kill people. His Companion repudiated him. Then, when other Herald-Mages attempted to close a Portal . . . a Gate, Tylendel killed himself. Vanyel wanted to follow his love's footsteps, but was Chosen, and then went to the Tayledras for help.:_

The call of a hawk was heard above. Ayala looked up, but it was not Wiyaun.

_:That's interesting. That hawk reminds me of something. Tayledras have hawks they call 'bondbirds.' To the Tayledras,, the giving of a feather from their bondbirds is a token of marriage . . .:_

The hawk cried again.

"Strange stories," said Ayon with a sigh.

_:Life is always 'strange.' If it wasn't, people wouldn't really be living . . .:_

"You think?" said Ayala bitterly.

_:Yes,:_ said the Companion gently. _:Life is strange, and that is what tests the hearts of all beings. Now, enough of this talk! Let us move! Hold on!:_

The twins tightened their grip, and the Companion sprinted forward as fast as she could.

They stopped one more time before reaching their destination. Ayon pulled Ayala away from Tinviel for a few moments.

"Your Companion is quite lovely, but I feel I'm being watched every moment. Of course, I've always wanted to meet Tinuviel . . ." Ayon had a faraway look in his eyes.

Ayala snickered. "You haven't changed a bit."

Ayon gave her a wry half-smile. "No, I don't suppose I have. Now, let me see this hand of yours." Ayon unwound the bandage gingerly. Ayala winced.

"Don't be afraid," he said in a low, deep voice. He laid his palm over hers, and a heat grew between them. Ayala began to pull away in fear.

"Not yet," he whispered, holding onto her.

When he let go, the wound was gone, through a tiny mark still marred the surface of her palm.

"How did you . . ."

"Elrond taught me. Now let's get going. I have the feeling he is in need of a friend right now."

Tinviel champed impatiently when they returned, and they were off. Soon Lorien was in sight.

Graybough thrummed a sober greeting at the two Elves on the swift horse, also heading for Lorien.

Three Elves still rode in his branches; one had remained behind in Minas Tirith to council the son of Arwen.

"Hail, elder," said the male Elf. "I am Ayon. This is my sister, Ayala Proudbow."

"I am Graybough," rumbled the Ent. "Lorien is heavily guarded; stay with me, and I will ask passage for you."

"What has happened?"

"It was attacked by Orcs, nigh on a week ago. It has become an armed camp now. Look up."

They looked up and saw the many archers in the trees, arrows trained on their every move. Graybough announced them and they were allowed to pass.

"Welcome, Ayon, Ayala," said Elrond wearily as they were brought before him. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, he could not sleep nor eat, only pace, his thoughts on Arwen. His eyes filled when he saw the Ent return, knowing the news was what he feared most. She had not reached Minas Tirith, as he had known.

One had remained there, with Arwen's son.

"I cannot stay here and do nothing, while she is most likely imprisoned in Mordor," said Elrond at last, after a long silence.

"Ayon, Ayala. You once served the King in Mirkwood. I ask for your help now. Lorien must stay strong. Patrols will walk at all hours, the trees are filled with archers like the apples of late summer, the Eagles watch. I would stay here and keep watch myself, over this wondrous wood, but I cannot sit idly while my daughter suffers; she has endured much, and I to be by her side, only to come to this . . ."

Elrond broke down before he could speak again, and when he did his voice was feeble with grief.

"Stay here, as marshals in my place, until I can return with Arwen Undomiel. Please . . ."

Disclaimer: The story that Tinviel tells in this chapter is from _The Last Herald-Mage Trilogy_ by Mercedes Lackey.


	51. Prisoner

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Chapter Fifty-one

Prisoner

Pansy was sickened daily by everything around her, until she became numb and could no longer look. The Orcs were breeding and becoming something new, and to Pansy's way of thinking, this spelled the end of the world. There was no hope of escape with so many, and they ate like pigs, so Pansy was cooking from dawn till dusk. By the end of the day, she fell into a tired miserable heap, and the only thought in her head was Marigold and whether she still lived.

~*~

Grool sent out his vulture to report on the siege of Lorien. When Black Wing returned, he had bad news. "So the Elves defeated us? I'm glad I escaped when I did. I must tell the Dark Lord of this unfortunate turn of events."

Grool went to his master's chamber.

"Master, I have received word that my forces at Lorien were defeated and are returning back to Mordor. I shall kill my second in command, Vark, for losing so important a target. But this shall not set us back. My Burz-hai shall be ready in a few months. I leave you now, my master."

~*~

Vark was the first of the Orcs to return.

"Vark! You pathetic coward! For your incompetence, you shall be severely punished! I was thinking that I would kill you, but that would be too lenient a punishment. You are hereby demoted. PANSY!"

Pansy came, cowering.

"I want you to train this pathetic fool to cook. I believe this shall ease your work. Vark! You are to get to work immediately! And you had better do well. Or I will kill you. Have a nice day. I have work to do." With that Grool left.

Pansy turned to Vark in desperation. "What are you being punished for?" she asked, showing him the proper way to cut mutton.

Vark glowered at her.

After he simmered down, she tried again. "If you're tired of taking his orders, I have friends that might be able to help us escape," she said casually, knowing that he could easily damn her and she might go into the stew right next to the mutton they were cutting up.

Vark looked at Pansy and stood up. He left the kitchen to look for Grool. Grool was walking the corridors of Barad-dur, watching his Orcs train.

"What are you doing here? You are supposed to be cooking!" Grool exclaimed.

"I am here to settle something, Grool! I am there to kill you and become the new leader of the Orcs of Mordor!" Vark threw a punch at Grool's head.

Grool jumped out of the way and did a leg sweep, but Vark jumped up and kicked Grool in the head. A crowd had begun to surround them, taking bets and cheering. Vark drew his saber and took a swing at Grool. Grool kicked the sword out of Vark's hand, and it impaled one of the spectators. Grool then delivered several blows to Vark's head, and Vark returned by knocking Grool off balance and kicking him in the ribs. Grool grabbed Vark's leg and flung him into a wall.

Grool stood up, a stream of blood trickling down his face. He walked over to Vark and picked him up by the neck. "Did Pansy put you up to this?"

Vark could barely utter, "Y-y-yesss . . ." before losing consciousness.

_Pansy . . . She has got to learn not to provoke my men. I will teach her a lesson this time . . . _Grool walked to the kitchen.

Pansy heard him coming and surprised herself by having the sense to tuck the knife she had been cutting mutton with under her skirt. It would likely do her no good, but she did it anyway.

Grool was enraged, and she knew in an instant that Vark had betrayed her. Damn him. She backed away, legs shaking, as he came forward slowly.

As Grool entered the kitchen in a rage, his amulet was glowing. "PANSY! Why must you turn my men against me?" The glow increased. "I feed you more than some of my soldiers, I have not killed you yet, I even that that, under the circumstances, I am very nice to you." The glow moved to his arm. "And this is how you repay me. By turning my own trusted soldiers against me! I've put up with you just about long enough." Grool raised his arm threateningly, not noticing the ball of light in his palm. "Pansy Took! I shall kill you now!" A bolt of light shot from his arm. Pansy ducked just in time, and the bolt hit an Orc, taking off his head. Grool fell to the ground, weary and in shock, and was to his chamber to rest . . .

~*~

After the incident in the kitchen, Grool felt drained. He was in his chamber for several days. When he finally had enough strength to move, he had an idea.

He sent a Uruk-hai to the ruins of Isengard on a secret errand.

He had his other soldiers construct a wooden tower that would be larger than any tower they had ever thought of building before. It would have three levels. The first would be a large hall for feeding his army. No one but Grool would be allowed into the upper levels. The second would be a dungeon, holding the Gondoran woman and Pansy. Vark would be chained by his neck in the kitchen to be taught by Pansy. The third and final chamber would be Grool's personal chamber. He would use the tower to ensure Pansy would never again speak to his Orcs. It would be completed in one week.

~*~

Pansy kept her head down and listened. There were rumors that they would all be moved, and that Grool was building his own self-styled kingdom at the old keep of Saruman, once called Orthanc. Pansy remembered vividly Pippin's descriptions of the place.

Anywhere would be better than here, and the land round Orthanc was open. She still had the knife under her skirts, and it gave her some small measure of comfort to know it was there, though she tried not to think of her lack of fighting skill amongst these brutes.

Vark was nastier than ever, and his foul temper began to wear on her nerves. It was obvious he thought the culinary arts beneath him. He was too stupid to learn properly and too bad-tempered to listen as she tried to explain, so all the work was once again on her shoulders. These Orcs ate like pigs, and had foul tastes, some of the dishes she was made to cook weren't fit to feed a starving dog. She was sick at heart, and ached with worry over Marigold.

Marigold, who was headed for Mordor, and didn't even know that her own mother had already beaten her there and was now a permanent guest. Pansy sighed and went back to beating the livers she was going to fry up for supper. After the washing up was done, maybe she could curl up in a corner by herself.

~*~

The tower, which was a few miles away from Barad-dur in some semi-fertile land, was almost complete. The Uruk-hai sent to Orthanc returned, a small bundle in his arm. It was not to be unwrapped yet.

A few days later, Grool-dur was complete. The Uruk-hai was invited up to Grool's chamber. He unwrapped the bundle that would be the final piece of furniture in the tower. The bundle contained . . . Saruman's palantir.

Grool raised his arm at the Uruk-hai and became very angry. The Uruk-hai lost his head. Grool had been practicing with his amulet after the trouble in the kitchen.

Grool moved the Gondoran woman and Pansy to their new homes in the tower.

That night, Grool held a feast celebrating the completion of the tower. After the feast, Grool went to his chamber and looked into the palantir. He was just testing it out, looking around Middle Earth, when he saw a very strange thing. He saw a Halfling. What was strange about her was that she looked a lot like Pansy. Grool called Pansy up and had her look into the palantir.

She gasped and broke down crying when she saw the Halfling. She kept repeating, "Mari . . . Mari . . . Mari . . ."

~*~

Grool watched as the small children of his Orcs trained themselves. Orcs gave birth much faster than both Men and Elves. The first part of the Burz-hai was coming along very nicely. The offspring of Orcs and Uruk-hai were very dark skinned and rather large. They could wrestle the Orcs they were conceived from and win. They could stay out in broad daylight and not be weakened. Their eyesight was more keen than that of an eagle. They could move as swiftly and lightly as an Elf and as silently as a Halfling. In a word, they were perfect . . .

Grool decided to give his creations a test. He gave one of them a bag and sent it to the Stone Circle to kidnap the little Halfling girl . . .

~*~

Pansy looked in pity at the girl in the cell across from hers. She was pregnant, and looked speechless and miserable.

"What's your name?" Pansy asked, as softly as she could. The girl looked up, as if she had forgotten how to interpret speech. She swallowed hard, as if fearing Pansy would attack her. Pansy turned away sadly. This place was crawling with Orcs more foul than any she had seen or heard of before, they were bigger, stronger, and uglier than even Grool. Pansy strongly suspected this girl had something to do with bringing them about.

It was beyond comprehension to think about what might have been done to her.

Pansy jumped when the girl spoke, her voice hoarse from unuse.

"Trista. I am called Trista."

Pansy smiled maternally. "I'm Pansy, a Hobbit from the Shire. If the Shire is still in one piece, that is. Where are you from, Trista?"

"Gondor. From . . . Minas Tirith." The girl stumbled over the words.

"And I suppose they just up and grabbed you like a sack of taters, too?"

Trista nodded, her hair falling into her face. She was a pretty girl, but her eyes seemed scarred now, old.

"I was to be married, to Eldarion, the son of Aragorn Elessar."

The King? Grool had taken the lion's cub this time! If Pansy could get word out, all hell would break loose around here.

"We're going to get out of here, Trista. I promise you that."

Trista tried to smile. Pansy smiled back. An idea was forming.


	52. The Stone Circle

****

Chapter Fifty-two

The Stone Circle. Kazushe.

They had followed Anduin, crossing it into South Ithilien and making for the Harad Road, which they would follow around the Emyn Arnen to Minas Tirith. From there, to Osgiliath, and Cirith Ungol. Syntoc grew dour as they drew nearer to Mordor, eating sparingly, talking little. Draco and Marigold came to rely on each other than ever. Draco was deeply worried about Syntoc, and was unable to draw the Wizard out of himself for more than a few moments at a time.

This was rough, beautiful country, symbolic of the last stand against the ugly borders of Mordor, as if the land showed it's inner beauty to warn the traveler to take in the sight, a living symbol of all that could be, in spite of the darkness.

They came to a ring of standing stones, centuries old, and the summer wind blew eerily between them.

There was a deep comraderie between them all now, a bond that was unshakeable, and they trusted each other.

Draco wondered at the meaning of these old monoliths of stone, which cast ominous shadows in the late afternoon, like the spirits of giants.

Mari was dwarfed by the huge presence of the stones, set as they were in a circle in the middle of a lonely plane. The tall grasses waved and rattled in the wind around them, and Marigold pulled the ivy away from one of the stones with a sense of foreboding.

"There are runes here!" she exclaimed. "Draco! Syntoc! What do they say? I can't read."

Draco began to read.

__

"Here among the giants with no voice,

The Mage of Silence must make his choice,

For light or darkness, good or ill,

For much depends of the strength of his will,

To summon the one of whom we speak,

The Circle must form, no heart within weak,

For if one should die before the quiet one chooses,

Much will be lost and the Circle the losers,

To summon them hither, the moon must make haste

The silent must choose, or the land be laid waste

Look for the moon in the house of the morn

And within for the Mage who is never reborn."

"Well," said Syntoc slowly. "We're in for a bit of a think over this one. Sit down, my boy." Syntoc took out his pipe.

"What is all that supposed to mean?" said Marigold to herself. "And who's this Mage of Silence everyone is one about?" Her hands on her hips, she looked again at the runes, which were meaningless symbols to her.

She felt a great distance from Draco sometimes, not only because of his secret, but because he was learned and on the way to wisdom and she was only a scared country Hobbit on her way to burgle the Dark Lord.

"The Mage of Silence is Kazushe," tittered Lunea in her left ear.

Marigold grinned. "Oh, Draco my dear, would you like to know the name of this silent Mage everyone's so interested in?"

Draco jumped up. Marigold was screaming with laughter. "And how in the world did you happen to know his name?"

"I didn't. I asked Lunea."

Lunea fluttered over, and Draco ducked, covering his head. "Oh, no, you don't! I won't be clouted by you again." He stood up slowly and Lunea knocked him in the back of the head anyhow.

"I'm going to be brainless by the time we reach Mordor. And I don't understand all this bit about the moon's house and all, and I don't think we should hang around here, it's too . . . exposed." His eyes traveled over the expanse of the plains.

"He is right," said Syntoc. "I sense an unfamiliar evil. We will have to return here another time. We will discuss what you know about Kazushe along the way."

Sil watched and listened as Draco and Syntoc read the runes. When they left, she approached it and ran her hand over the runes, then turned. She closed her eyes and used her other senses to assess the area. An Orc, or something of the like, was lurking nearby. She pulled out Aglar and walked back into the shadows, waiting for it. Soon she heard it approach and raised Aglar high over her head. When it was right near her she made a soft noise and it turned and faced her. She brought Aglar down over its head hard, killing it. She dragged the body into the light and called the others. "It isn't an Orc, but it is very near to one." She looked to the Wizard questioningly.

"That isn't like any Orc I've ever seen," said Draco grimly. The dead beast was Orcish in appearance but taller and far more muscled than even the Uruk-hai.

"There will be more," Syntoc intoned. "Let us move on with haste."

Sil nodded to Draco. "Aye, it is not a full blood." She leaned down and examined the body. "Orcs of Mordor, Orcs of the mountains," she muttered. Then she stood up. "He has been bred selectively. There are more and when they learn of this, they will be upon us. He was not scared of the light. They will be harder to fight than the other kinds."

Draco's anger flared. The Orc had obviously been following them. And no one had heard or seen it.

The way ahead was looking harder all the time.

Draco caught Lunea's eye warily. "Can Kazushe be summoned, Lunea?"

"Yes. Though I cannot say whether he will heed your summons or not. Kazushe is many things, not the least of which is mysterious. Do you seek to influence his choice?"

"Damn right I do. If it's so bloody important, I want him on our side."

"It is, very important."

"Especially now that the Council is fragmented."

As they rode on, and darkness came, Draco split his thoughts between Kazushe and keeping a sharp eye on the road behind them. Marigold was safe in front of him.

Draco was grateful to Sil for having killed the creature and told her so. Sil and Marigold found themselves in conversation about the Shire, and Draco grew sleepy.

"Take the reins for a while," he murmured in Mari's ear, and drifted off, leaning against her.

It wasn't long before he was swept into the field of dreams.

An Elf stood before him, his eyes a translucent blue, almost colorless, his hair nearly shadeless, so pale it was. Draco felt himself transform, longing to fly, and burn across the night.

"Dragon. I have heard your call."

"Kazushe?"

The Elf nodded slowly. "I require the blood of both the innocent and the guilty before rendering my decision," drawled Kazushe. "Until then . . ."

The image of the Elf began to erode, shimmering, and Draco's dream went down other twisted paths.

He forced himself to wake lest he forget what Kazushe had said to him.

The blood of the innocent and the guilty? Draco pondered long on those words silent.

Sil listened to the Hobbit until she noticed Draco had woken up and looked worried. "Draco," she spoke softly, "what ails you?"

"Kazushe," he replied. "He wants the blood of an innocent and guilty."

"Does he want death or just some blood?" Sil asked, hoping her guess was not the right answer.

"I . . . I am not sure," Draco said.

Sil swallowed hard. "You may have mine."

"You misunderstand," said Lunea. "You can't just go to him and say, 'here is the blood of an innocent and guilty.' That . . . is what the testing is for. Our blood, those of the light, mingled with the people of Middle Earth. When we are dead, those of us are or were innocent and guilty will be shown to him fully, and then he will choose."

"But why?" asked Draco. "Why such a heavy burden, to give your lives for us?"

"We believe in goodness," said Ierik simply.

"Do not think about it now," said John. "When Kazushe wishes to test us, he shall."

Sil listened to the Mages. They were all so complicated. But she knew that she had only been looking for an excuse to die. All her life she had endured pain and hardship and knew it wouldn't end anytime soon. Such was the Alatamir's life.

She softly clucked to Glam and said to Mir, "Go back to Lorien and tell my mother to guard it well."

Naiads loved to tell secrets to those they trusted, and her mother had told her of the many treasures of the Mystic Lake. Sil was not talking about the Silmaril but a treasure of her own, the crown of flowers made for her by LeafRunner. It had powers that would be useful later . . .

As Mir flew off, Sil looked into the sky and to Elbereth. "Give me hope, Valar," she said. Suddenly she saw a light flash across the sky from the West. She was not forgotten.

~*~

Kazushe sat back against his throne.

"It does not get any easier as time goes by . . ." he whispered.

~*~

Grool was watching as Sil killed the Burz-hai. "NO!" he screamed, slamming his fist into the table.

He climbed down the ladder and went into the open air. He had the Burz-hai double and redouble their training. By now, some of them were taller than Grool himself.

He went to visit Pansy. He saw Vark, asleep against a chair. "VARK! I want you to cook me something. If you can't, Pansy will cook you. So get cooking." Grool went back to his chamber to rest and plot . . .


	53. Escape

****

Chapter Fifty-three

Escape

Eldarion raged as the council convened. He had no time for these courtiers.

"My mother is missing," he called before they even sat down. "And Trista, the woman I was to marry this autumn. I am leaving, to find them. I place Faramir in charge here. If I do not return, chose your own successor. One of my sisters would rule well as Queen. I cannot stay here. A messenger came to me earlier this evening from Lorien, borne by a great Ent of Fangorn. An army is massing there, and Lorien is defended after the destruction of Imladris. I fear to fail you, but I fear far more for my mother, in the clutches of Mordor." Eldarion's voice failed him for a moment.

"She was well loved by you. Those who wish to ride with me, I will welcome."

Eldarion strode out. By the time he reached the gate, fifty Men had gathered. Horses were waiting. They departed.

~*~

Pansy ignored Vark, who muttered angrily and went back to sleep.

"Lazy sod," she cursed under her breath. Still he had done her a favor.

Tonight she was making a feast. A cauldron of stew simmered, full of beef and carrots and barley and beer. And herbs. Herbs brought to her by one rebellious Orc, that would put them all to sleep for a good, long time. She took the loaves from the oven, not caring that she burned her fingers twice, and saved out two of the best for Trista.

Trista was gaining confidence now that she had a friend. Pansy was determined to save the girl, who felt like a daughter now, even though she towered over Pansy.

She began the long work of trundling the meal in to the Orcs, who shoveled it in. She watched nervously from the kitchen. One fell asleep, his head in his bowl. No, it was too soon . . .

None of the others seemed to care, and shoved their comrade off the table onto the floor. They continued to eat. Pansy wrung her hands, jumping when they called for more.

In three quarters of an hour, they were all asleep. She plucked the keys from Grool's belt and ran upstairs as fast as her short legs would carry her, up the winding staircase, round and round till she was quite dizzy.

She unlocked Trista's cell, handing her the loaves. "Come on! Let's get out of here!"

They dashed back down the back staircase and out into the night. The air was so fresh Pansy felt half drunk.

"To the stables!" They tore off.

Trista helped Pansy up and mounted behind her, and they rode off like bats out of Hel, straight for the Golden Hall of Rohan.

Pansy screamed when she saw a squad of horsemen that could only be Riders of the Mark. "HELP US!" 

Two Burz-hai who were training instead of eating saw Pansy and Trista escaping. They ran as fast as they could, which was very fast. They overtook the two and quickly ran off, the riders on their tail. The two Burz-hai gathered the Wolves to attack the riders, and then they ran towards Grool-dur to re-imprison Pansy and Trista . . .

Eldarion's band gave chase to the Orcs trailing off with Trista. Trista had seen him and was screaming his name now.

"By Telperion, what have they done to you?" he said to himself in anguish, seeing her condition.

The Riders of the Mark joined them, and the effort was redoubled. Eldarion drew his sword, flanking them, hewing off the head of the Orc holding Trista. His horse reared and bucked, and he had to fight to regain control and stop it. In seconds, Trista was in his arms. As soon as she was safely on his horse, he went into a killing frenzy and began slaughtering as many Orcs as he could.

Mordel heard the screams of the Orcs as they were slaughtered. She cursed under her breath. As she galloped back, she unsheathed Durnar and started hacking through the mounted Men, hewing a head here, chopping through a heart there.\

When she came to the Man with the woman in his arms, she slapped Durnar on the horse's rump, and it took off, bucking because of the fire. The Man fell off, and Mordel caught the woman as she fell and threw her back to the remaining Orc. "Here, take her to your master, and make haste. There are more."

The Orc ran off, faster than the others it seemed, and Mordel followed behind. Soon, she heard thundering hooves behind her. She looked ahead, and the Orc with the woman had gone into the woods. The woman was still screaming, "Eldarion! Eldarion!"

Mordel turned, and the Man who had held the woman was upon her. She raised Durnar. "So, falling off your horse, having your mother captured by Mordor, and your betrothed stolen aren't enough? You want your life taken, too?" Mordel laughed; this would be easy enough.

"Woman of Mordor, you are a fool; you know not the wrath you bring down upon your head. Then again, you are not really a woman, but some twisted corruption of the Dark Lord, the one who will devour you in the end, and give you nothing but death . . ." Eldarion swung, and the two swords met, ringing like bells. All the fury of his rage over his mother's plight, the loss of his father, and Trista, the woman he loved more than life, was in the arc of his arm, and the sword carried by the foul emissary of Mordor was broken in two.

She raised her eyes slowly. They were full of bile.

"Hideous you are," he said flatly, watching her reach for the hilt of the sword he had broken. He raised her arm and plunged the blade of his own sword through the back of her hand, pinning her to the ground, and the remaining Riders of Rohan and the Men of Gondor he had brought with him surrounded her. She was bound by Elven ropes, her mouth stuffed with cloth so she could speak no evil, her eyes blindfolded, her other weapons taken. Eldarion himself took the reins of the horse they placed her on.

"We will see how much the Dark Lord values his servants," said Eldarion tonelessly. They rode in circles to confuse her sense of direction, then off to where she would be tried.


	54. Anguish

****

Chapter Fifty-four

Anguish

"Trista, I'm so sorry," Pansy wailed. Trista was crumpled at the bottom of her cell, sobbing, softly, crying out her lover's name.

"We'll try again, Trista, don't give up on me now. Someday we'll all be sitting around having a glass of wine, and we'll laugh about these days. Old Grool will be long since dead, may he rot in peace, and you'll be married to that prince of yours, and you'll come to visit me in the Shire, and I'll be like a granny to your children, you'll have lots of them, Trista, you and Eldarion, he won't let you remain here, they saw which way the Orcs brought us, and they'll come here, with an army, hold on Trista, hold on."

Pansy bit her lip, and tried not to cry herself. She had to stay strong for this frail girl, and for her daughter, Mari, who was still out there, Mari who she had seen in the crystal ball.

~*~

About a week after her return to Grool-dur, Trista gave birth to Grool's son. He was tall and dark-skinned like the Burz-hai. He could smell and hear better than a Wolf. He could hold his breath for hours. He could swim better than a fish.

Grool trained him personally, and soon he was a general, just like his father. He was named Urukgoth, or Orc-lord.

When he was ready, he would breed with the Burz-hai to create the ultimate warrior. Trista had served her purpose for Grool, but he would keep her for his son to use, to create even greater soldiers than the Burz-hai.

~*~

Pansy woke and went to the door of her cell to speak with Trista. A muffled sob was all she could get out when she looked across the corridor.

Trista had hanged herself. She had been so close when they escaped, she had been returned to her lover's arms.

And then she had birthed that hideous creature. Perhaps she had thought Eldarion would never want her again. Pansy knew that couldn't have been the case; she'd seen the way he looked at her, with nothing but love.

Pansy had talked her through the birth from this side of the corridor, while the Orcs stood by, grunting in their foul language. The pain had been intense, but nothing compared to being torn from Eldarion twice.

Trista was free now. Pansy could not say the same for herself. She must go on, because of Marigold.

Were it not for Mari, Pansy would share Trista's fate. No matter what came next, Pansy would never forget what she saw now, Trista's feet dangling inches from the floor, and the utter quiet of death.

~*~

Mordel sat tall on Beleg with her hands bound. _Fool_, she thought. When Eldarion's back was turned, she kicked Beleg, and he dropped his ears forward and dropped the bridle off his head, holding only the bit in his teeth. Then, Mordel used her tongue to push out the cloth, and she chewed through the rope quickly, with a tiny knife she always held in her teeth, then off came the blindfold.

Beleg walked quietly behind Eldarion until Mordel spoke. "Fool," she hissed. "Do you think I can be defeated this easily?" As she said this, she reached deep into her boots and pulled out two twin swords. "Oh, yes, I am a woman, not a 'twisted corruption.' My lineage goes back to a king." She neglected to tell him the king later became one of the Nine.

Then, as he reached for his sword, Mordel lifted her hands and leaned and grabbed Durnar, who was whole again, from him. "The Dark Fire seems to fade, but returns stronger than ever."

She tossed her long hair back, revealing her face, fair and beautiful, but full of evil and hate-hideous she was not.

As she kicked Beleg, she swung her hand and blood spattered in Eldarion's face. "I will have my revenge, but now, have this thought; your woman just gave birth to an Orc child." Mordel laughed and rode away while he was stunned.

The woman's words echoed in his head. "Your woman just gave birth to an Orc child."

Eldarion was more than stunned, even though he had known in those brief seconds she'd been in his arms. He sank to his knees.

He knew he would never see her again in this world. He could no longer feel her.

"I will have my revenge, for Trista," Eldarion said to the wind, repeating the words of the woman of Mordor.

They rode to Edoras to regroup, mostly because they knew Eldarion was lost to them right now.

~*~

Sil was thinking of the past when a circlet dropped into her lap. "Mir! I told you to have it looked after."

"My lady, the Eagles are going to war, and I can't always deliver messages, and Ara . . . Well, you know Ara, so use this . . . it's the best I could do."

Sil nodded and waved her off. She put the silver circlet on her head and rode on.

That night Sil stood over the river and dropped in the circlet and peered in. It, of course, was made for her long ago and dropped in the water of Galadriel's mirror, so when dropped in water it would show what was, what had been, and what was yet to be.

As she looked she saw Emer and Legolas and Ayala. Good, she thought. Then that vision was obscured by the woman giving birth to an Orc child and hanging herself. Then Eldarion and the woman of Mordor.

Sil sighed, and looked into the water, and saw her own face. _Ea's Radiant Jewel? Some jewel._ Then she looked again. Long blond hair, bright blue eyes, rosy cheeks, blood red lips; it was all very good, but the scar. As she pulled back her hair, it was revealed. A long scar, which her aunt had lovingly turned into a star with a couple other cuts.

As Sil watched through the circlet, she was appalled. This is that the Dunadan raised? He couldn't even capture a girl with the Rohirrim and the Men of Gondor. She sighed; it would be a hard battle to win. Sil shuddered as the circlet showed the day her life was over, when her lover died. She picked up the circlet and mounted Glam.


	55. The Hills of Evendim

****

Chapter Fifty-five

The Hills of Evendim

Edric chuffed along beside the daughter of Vanya.

_I'm getting too old for this_, he thought for the hundredth time that day. They bore straight for the North. His old bones were going to ache with even more ferocity in the coming months. The winters in the Northern Wastes were brutal, with winds that could carve flesh and cold that could gnaw bones.

The Hills of Evendim were fast approaching, and they camped at the foot of them, the lonely wind coursing all around. The Wanderer seemed unconcerned that they were so far removed from the mainstream of events, and Aidan seemed to be in her element, fearing nothing.

In the cool evening, Edric attempted to engage the quiet girl in conversation. "You are young for a such a quest. How is it you left your tribe so easily?"

Aidan was both surprised and pleased by the candid way the Wizard spoke.

"I came as your guide because it is a great honor for a warrior, for I feel the fulfillment of your quest is important to us all. I cannot say why this is so, it is only a feeling. When you have learned I am trustworthy, perhaps you will tell me more about this thing you wish to hide, and why you wish it not to be found, and who else knows you are hiding it."

Aidan paused, her eyes steely. "There is another reason I wished to come along as your guide, other than my knowledge of the lands. The Sword of Creation. It is said to wait in the Ered Mithrin, for the one who can draw it. Whether it exists at all is conjecture, it may be only a myth."

"The Golden Horde was thought to be myth," said Edric wryly. "Yet there you were."

"True. Since we go that road, I will look, with eyes and heart, for this sword, for it is said among our people that Illuvatar wrote upon the blade a great secret, and that the one who wields it must be pure of heart, and that it can only be drawn by one who will be among the greatest warriors of the Realm, those who fight to preserve what Illuvatar wrought with his own hands."

Aidan fell silent, feeling she had said too much, and the Wizard would think her a fool for hoping to find such a thing. She poked at the fire with a stick, and watched the horizon.

"There are many things within the Realm still undiscovered," Edric replied thoughtfully. "Perhaps the Sword of Creation will be among them. I should like to see what Illuvatar wrote upon the blade myself."

Edric stretched out. Tomorrow they must tackle the Hills of Evendim, there to Arnor, the Lost Realm. He found himself wishing they had brought a few Elves along, there would be singing in the evenings."

Aidan was a Half-Elf, but resembled that gentle people not, she was all warrior, like her mother, and tough as hammered steel in spite of her tender years.

Edric bid them all goodnight, knowing they would depart before the dawn.

The Wanderer bid Edric goodnight and returned to his own thoughts. The Sword of Creation was an interesting prospect, and would be of great use in battle if it was in fact real. Except one had to be pure of heart to wield such a weapon . . . The Wanderer would never be able to wield the sword.

The Wanderer stood and faced the South. He looked out over the lands and up at the stars, realizing how beautiful the land looked under the dim light of moon and stars. "War is coming and may ravage the lands," he said, "and all of Arda may be on the brink of annihilation if the Dark Lord obtains what he seeks . . . But at least there is peace in some parts of the world for the time being. I wonder how long I will be able to see the land like this? How long will it take for the groping hands of war and misery to find all corners of the world and destroy them? No one will be safe if Mordor succeeds . . ."

A chill wind blew from the South . . . Evil followed this Fellowship. The Wanderer would deal with this agent of Mordor soon enough.

Aidan slept little that night, keeping watching and thinking of the way ahead, and of the sword she hoped to find.

Before dawn the rest were awake and alert. They shouldered their packs, which were already getting lighter. They would have to start hunting soon.

The Hills of Evendim came up before them. The sound of the wind, which flattened the long grasses of summer on the smooth swelling of the hills, was ghostly.

"It is here we come for one of our tests, to earn our medallions," said Aidan. "A difficult place to fight, for an enemy may hid within the dells of the hills, or behind them."

They began to climb the first one, and coming down the other side saw another rise waiting to meet them. It was slow going and could be felt in all the muscles of the legs. When they reached the top of the next rise, Aidan stopped.

"A Great Eagle approaches," she said, shielding her eyes with one hand from the bright sun. Geharion spiraled down, coming to rest in front of the Wizard, Edric.

"Hail, friends. I bring news from the Inner Lands. Lothlorion was under siege, but was freed in a great battle between the Elves, the Ents, and Orcs. A great army returned with Elrond, and the Elves of Rivendell, along with Elrond's forces have made their new home in the Golden Wood. It brings me great sadness to report to you, Edric, that the Council of the Wise is no more. All that remain are yourself, Syntoc the White, and Zindel the Red. The Circle of Mages reborn is rumored to be gathering. I recently escaped captivity in Mordor and was wounded by the Nazgul. Great forces are massing in Mordor; the Dark Lord has grown strong; and the Orcs boil like ants. The Silmaril was hidden by Arwen. May your quest not fail, and the Arkenstone soon be out of sight as well!"

"So, the circle has broken after all. I feared it had come to pass . . ." Edric could not speak for a while, lost in thought as he was.

"Well, then," he said at last. "All will fall on those of us who remain, if we are to restore peace in Arda. Those who have faltered would have done so anyhow, though it grieves me to see the Council broken so. Perhaps it is time, for the old to be swept away to make room for the new." Edric thought of young Draco.

"The Council will rise again. For now we must continue on, the Lost Realm of Arnor awaits! I thank you, Windlord, for you traveled far to say those words to me. Go, now, to the kingdom of the Dwarves, for their help shall soon be called for. Tell them everything you have told us. May you return to your lofty home in safety!"


	56. The Lost Realm of Arnor

****

Chapter Fifty-six

The Lost Realm of Arnor. An Unexpected Guest.

The sun slanted in through stormclouds as they came to stand on a shelf of rock.

"Look there," breathed Aidan. "Annuminas, the Seat of Kings. Capitol of the North Kingdom of the Dunedain. Come! Let us explore it. A chance like this may never come again."

Edric nodded assent and the climb down began. They wound around the shores of Lake Nenvial and the city unfolded before them.

Grey clouds streamed overhead on the north wind, and they came in sight of the still streets of the town, looking up to see the gutted, falling towers.

"There was once great majesty here, in the seat of Kings," Edric commented softly. Everywhere were signs of it, in the intricate architecture on the crumbling buildings, in the view of the lake. It was like finding a lost civilization.

"Why was it never resettled after the war?" Aidan wondered aloud. 

Edric shook his head. "Perhaps people grew comfortable with the central location of Minas Tirith; this land would be hard to defend without a large army."

"The Horde will come here, when this war ends, and restore this place."

Edric heard the tinkling of a rock falling from one of the old towers. 

"We may not be alone here. Let's proceed with caution." 

Aidan followed the sound of the noise, digging through the rubble. "It's only a kit . . . look, it's injured." She picked up the baby fox, which snapped at her. She stroked its red fur until it was visibly calmer.

"Larz, come here and help me. There's a thorn in its paw."

Larz grumbled but complied. Aidan opened her pack, took out a small clay pot with a stopper and a small tool.

"Hold her jaws closed, I don't want to be bitten."

The kit squirmed while Aidan freed the thorn from her foot. Quickly she salved the wound, the salve was laced with herbs that dulled pain. The fox grew lax.

"Let go, slowly."

The fox gave a half hearted snap at Larz's fingers.

Aidan drew some dried meat from her pack and fed bits of it to the fox, which gobbled it hungrily, searching her hand for more. She chuckled, digging out more.

"You will come with me now," she said softly. She tucked the fox under her arm, offering it more dried meat. It swallowed it down and yawned.

"You'll have to learn to ride on my shoulder, I need my hands free," she laughed. She placed the fox on her shoulder, fearing it would run off, but it stayed put.

"What will you call it?" asked Larz.

"I think I will call her Telek, which means 'little blade' in our tongue."

She noticed Larz looking once again at her weapons. "This is called a katana." She passed it to him, then lifted the circular blade from its hook at her belt.

"This is the ancient chakram, one of the oldest weapons of Oranea, the island that is home to my mother. It is thrown at an enemy." She reached into her pocket, withdrawing several small metallic stars. "These are called vitrannen, also thrown at an enemy. Good aim is a kingly value among the Horde."

"I can see why," laughed Larz.

"Maybe the Wanderer will tell us more about his weaponry," said Aidan loud enough to be heard by all. At that moment they came to a turn, and straight ahead was a tall and imposing structure. They went inside cautiously, finding to their delight an old armory.

"Look at these shields," cried Aidan. "I can scarcely believe this place has not been plundered clean."

They began selecting the finest helmets and shields. Aidan removed her cloth turban, stuffing it into her pack, and donned a silver helm with scrolled horns at the brow.

"Like a dwarf maiden," said Larz.

The Wanderer browsed the ancient Numenorean weaponry, taking a small dagger and placing it in his boot, and taking up a silver shield.

"My weaponry?" he asked. "I have not carried many weapons in my lifetime, and none as fine as the blade I carry now, and I have carried for thousands of years."

He drew his sword and ran his hand along the edge. "This blade was forged by Telchar," he said as the Dwarves looked up with sudden interest, "most renowned of Dwarvern smiths, and of the ancient city of Nogrod, which is lost forever . . . Few of Telchar's works remain still in the world, though I believe the Wizard Syntoc carries Glamdring now that Gandalf has departed."

The Wanderer continued browsing the weapons and took another dagger. "But as long as I'm here . . . One can never have too many finely crafted weapons . . ."

Edric watched them happily rummaging the great store of weapons. He had selected a fine hauberk that could also be used as a staff. He filled his pipe and smoked, listening, smiling at the Dwarves' expressions when Telchar was mentioned. His face grew dark when Syntoc's name came up.

There had been no word or sign from Syntoc in many days. If the party had fallen into disarray or been captured, it boded ill for this quest as well.

"Aidan," Edric called, blowing a red ring that lazily found the wind and drifted off. "Where do you surmise we hide the Arkenstone?"

"In the Withered Heath of the Grey Mountains," replied Aidan. "There is a well there, and legend has it the well is bottomless, for it was formed by the first Dragon, who crawled out from the center of earth seeking the daylight. If we hide the Arkenstone there, it can only be retrieved by magic and the Dragon's blessing."

"If we can get past the Dragons to find the well," said Bain dourly.

"Leave that to me," Aidan smiled. "It is still two days ride over rough country. Let us go on."

Aidan was reluctant to leave this place, and determined to return with her tribe to populate this lost city once again. When the empty streets had fallen away behind them and the grasslands lay ahead, Telek sprang from her shoulder and ran off to hunt, a flash of red in the long, waving grass.

She returned with a large field mouse, and Aidan laughed and told her to eat her kill. Their supplies were running low and Aidan would have to hunt soon.

"We must alter course a bit. We are being pursued by an agent of Intathin," said Edric calmly. Aidan's hand was on her sword before he could blink.

"Indeed. A shadow follows at our heels. Your mother told me you have some knowledge of the Wyrms, Aidan. How much?"

A huge grin spread over the girl's face. Edric knew that between his skills and hers and the stout Dwarves and the Wanderer's knowledge they were in good hands.

"And we have the Wanderer's sword, which any good Dwarf would follow," chuckled Bain, admiring the fine workmanship of the ax he had taken in Arnor.

He moved to bring up the rear, guarding them from behind. He despised all this sneakery of the Dark Lord, preferring an enemy to show himself and fight or fall.

The shieldmaiden's smile when asked about the Dragons gave Bain heart. His only real wish was to receive some news from Erebor, he must know soon what his own armies were doing. The sooner they were free of the Arkenstone, which Edric now carried, the better. They may yet have cause to call upon its powers before the journey's end.

~*~

Mordel watched the Dwarf and wondered if it had seen her at all. It hadn't. She dismounted and stopped to bathe in the river. When she got out she was rosy and lovely, the only hint of evil was in her deep gray eyes. She cleaned out the wound in her hand and used some of the blood to paint her lips. She plaited Beleg's mane, tail and feathers and her own hair. She hid all weapons but her bow and arrows and Durnar. Then she mounted and galloped behind the company.

As expected the Dwarves caught her and brought her before the others. The girl didn't suspect her, but the others knew of the evil but didn't pin it on her. The Wizard, though, knew who she was but Mordel didn't know how much he knew. She waited for them to question her.

Edric stepped forward immediately, raising his staff and placing himself between the Fellowship and Mordel. White fire blazed from his staff, and Mordel was driven back a few steps.

"We will not yield to you, nor you will gain what we carry." The light grew until it was ceaseless and terrible. Edric's fingers were reddened as he gripped the staff.

Mordel's face was insolent. "Yes, I know thee," said Edric. At that Edric lifted the staff high, and it burned intolerably with so white and great a light it compelled and harrowed the servant of Mordor, and she fell back.

"Turn back, Slave, for as long as you serve Him slave is all that you will be. Go back and tell him the darkness will never lie over the land, and that the free races shall remain so, and never will he gain the Arkenstone or the Silmaril. There is still good in you yet . . ." Edric brought the staff whistling down and Mordel was driven to the ground.

"Aidan," spoke Edric in a low voice. "Call the Dragon."

The Wanderer was not at all surprised at the arrival of Mordel. She may have cleaned herself up, and she had a fair appearance, but the foul stench of Mordor was all about her.

She was an agent of Mordor and was sent to hinder their quest, but the Wanderer could not help but feel sorry for her. She was probably under His control since birth. "Hold, Edric," he said. "It is true that she is His slave, and that she would try to take the Arkenstone. But as a slave of the enemy, she has no will of her own. She knows only to serve the Dark Lord."

The Wanderer extended a hand to help her up. "What is your name, child?"

But she did not desire help. Instead she spat on the Wanderer's hand and leapt up. "I am Mordel," she said, her eyes containing nothing but hate.

"And what business do you have here, Mordel?"

"To kill you, and to do the bidding of my Lord and Master."

"Your Lord and Master?" After he had asked Mordel this, a sound came from the Wanderer that no person had heard before. All present were almost amazed to hear this . . . Laughter, hysterical laughter. The Wanderer almost fell over from his laughter and he had to wipe away a few tears.

Mordel was enraged, and charged the Wanderer while he was vulnerable. The Wanderer merely grabbed her by the throat with his left hand and lifted her off of the ground. "I could crush your throat easily right now, or kill you in ten thousand other ways, and do you think your 'Lord and Master' would save you? Or that he would care that you had died while serving Him?"

Mordel began to struggle.

"I'll take that as a 'No'," said the Wanderer. "Now that you are here, I must tell you that the Lord you serve so willingly, and the Lord that you would gladly die for cares _nothing_ for you. Whether you live or die is of no significance to Him . . . It took _five hundred years of my life_ to realize what I have told you in five seconds, and that is why I do what I do today . . ."

The Wanderer set Mordel back on the ground for she was beginning to run out of air. "Get out of my sight," he said. The Wanderer turned his back to her and Mordel ran off. Seeing his back turned, Mordel tried to fulfill her mission by shooting an arrow at the Wanderer. He turned and caught the arrow, the arrow bursting into flames in his hand. But now the expression on the Wanderer's face turned from pity to rage. His eyes began to glow a pale red, and the ground began to slightly shake. "I said go!" he shouted, his voice containing a new authority and depth, seemingly echoing from the depths of the earth.

Mordel turned and ran once again, this time not looking back. "She will be back," said the Wanderer. "Evil is annoyingly persistent . . ."

"But we will not be here when she returns," said Aidan. She filled her lungs and let out one long ululating scream, one word.

"ORM!"

Catching her breath, she chuckled. "Now, we wait." They stood in a circle, their backs nearly touching, their weapons drawn in case the woman returned.

"Look there," said Aidan, pointing to the West. Sunlight struck the body of an iron black Dragon, beating his way towards them with ponderous wings.

The sound of its landing was like the grating whisper of crossed swords, and there was a soft hissing as it dragged its long body towards them.

The mail of his flanks was scored like armor, and its gaze was enveloped in great age, years beyond the remembering of any age. Its great golden eye regarded them, and the morning of the world was deep within it.

Orm set his great taloned foot in front of them.

"Mount," he rumbled. They climbed up and sat astride between the spines of his armored neck.

There was a heat like the sun's heat where the Dragon's hide touched them, life burned in fire beneath that armor.

Orm raised his wings carefully so as not to unseat his puny riders, gathering spring in his great haunches, leaping into the air like a cat, and his wings beat down and bore them from the land straight North to the Grey Mountains.

Bain had never cared for riding on horseback, and being Dragonback he liked even less. The land dipped and rose beneath them. He preferred his life lived underground, in the cool stony halls of Erebor where he belonged.

Erebor was not a far journey from here. Bain was anxious for some kind of word from home. And extremely confused by the beauty of the woman of Mordor. It seemed impossible so beautiful a woman could serve the lidless eye. He intended to ask both Edric and the Wanderer who she really was when they were back on solid ground where they belonged.

The Grey Mountains loomed up on the horizon, living up to their name, silver as the lodes beneath the earth in the setting sun.

~*~

Mordel walked away and mounted Beleg. Of course Intathin didn't care whether she lived or died. She knew that. She was no slave. What she did was what she wanted to. She spat in frustration, two Wizards against her, with only one power, which she was forbidden to use. But there were things that existed before Wizards, yes, evil things. She would call upon these powers of old.

Mordel rode through the mountains until she came to a cave and crawled in. She pulled out Durnar to light the way through the cave's tunnels and sudden drops. Soon she heard numerous hissings and sounds of fighting as she walked into a cavern light with black torches. The light of Durnar brightened the cavern so all the beady black eyes were staring at her. Mordel glared at them. "Can any of you venture into a Dragon's lair and come out alive with a treasure it is guarding?"

All the creatures were quiet until a small snake slithered up.

"Mordel, I am Delgoth, I have ventured past many Dragons and stolen their sole prize jewels," the snake said.

"Hail, Horror of the Lords, come with me and we will see the Dark Lord and he will tell you of your task."

As Mordel stalked out, carrying the snake she glared at the other useless creatures. Then, mounting Beleg, she headed toward Mordor.


	57. A Shadow in Lorien

****

Chapter Fifty-seven

A Shadow in Lorien

Legolas and Emer were met by small groups of well-wishers as they returned to the most populated areas of the wood. They had sent the horse back ahead, choosing instead to walk. They explored the gardens of Lorien, stunned into silence at their breathtaking beauty. Groups of Elves were already tending them after their long neglect.

One of them turned sharply as Legolas and Emer approached.

"What is that, following behind you?" he cried sharply.

Legolas spun around. He saw leafy twigs moving where something had quickly passed at the base of a tree several feet behind him. He ran in pursuit.

Deagol . . . Legolas sped up, his long legs flying, and leaped onto the creature's back. It shrieked, a foul and hideous sound. He dragged it back to where Emer and those working in the gardens now stood, holding it by all fours, trying to avoid its snarling fangs.

Emer was ashen and shaking. "Hand me the rope from my satchel," said Legolas calmly. He tied each of the creature's feet and reached up to loop the end around its neck.

Emer gasped as he lifted her garland from its slimy neck, his eyes meeting hers. They had been followed a very long way indeed. He remembered the night she had lost the garland. Deagol had watched even the most intimate of moments between them.

"Give it back, it's ours," Deagol moaned piteously.

"I should kill you right now, you foul thief, you are beneath contempt," spat Legolas. "You are an agent of Mordor, and I will let Elrond question you first."

He looked sadly at the garland, tarnished now. Emer picked it up disdainfully and stowed it.

Legolas tied the rope around Deagol's neck, and he screamed and writhed as if he was burned. Legolas drove him on until they neared Elrond's flet.

There, a large group had gathered. Legolas saw a shining head of fair hair and thought he had seen Ayala. His eyes darted away.

~*~

Ayala looked around, her heart heavy.

"Lorien! Lorien! Alas that I could be here when my heart was healed!" she cried.

Ayon put his hand on her shoulder, but remained silent.

"We shall stay and help watch over Lorien, Master Elrond," said Ayala, her voice tired. There was a sharp cry from a creature and all eyes turned to look from where it came. The people moved aside. A creature, gray and wicked lay on the ground shouting in pain because of an Elven cord tied to his neck.

That was not what made Ayala turn deathly pale, or Ayon stiffen, almost like a statue. Tinviel stared at the Elf all eyes were drawn to. Legolas stood before them, his eyes averted. There was a long pause, almost like time had stopped. Ayala's blue eyes were wide, shadowed and glazed. There was an intense pounding in her chest, and she coughed. Her hand she had cut was also pulsing. Ayala turned around blindly and walked away from the crowd, who stood in utter bewilderment; she was like a ghost. She glided past the crowd so as not to see Legolas. Everyone was watching her. She leaned against a nearby tree and breathed deeply, shaking. She could not stop the pain, nor the tears that began to run down her face.

"Legolas . . . Legolas . . ." she said over and over. She fainted.

__

:Go to her,: said Tinviel. Every muscle in Ayon's body was coiled, and he sidled up to Legolas, who was still struggling with the creature. Elrond stood nearby, his expression a mixture of loathing and dismay.

When Legolas looked up, Ayon smashed his fist into the other's face, driving him to the ground.

"I will kill you, you bastard, for what you have done to my sister," snarled Ayon, his dagger already in his hand, poised to strike a killing blow.

Deagol screeched, writhing and gnawing at the rope on his front legs, which burned his skin like acid.

"Nassty wicked Elves!" he whimpered. "We hates you, we hates you all, thieves, murderers . . ."

He tore at the rope but it would not give way, and his fangs left no mark on it. His lamplike eyes swivelled just in time to see wicked Legolas being attacked.

"Kill him! Kill him!" Deagol put in, squirming out of the way of the fight.

"No!" Emer cried and rushed forward, kicking the knife from Ayon's hand. She grabbed his hair, hauling him off Legolas. "Leave him alone, get away from him!" She struck at Ayon, who easily dodged her blows. Legolas jumped up, his own dagger in his hand. Emer stayed his hand. His nose was bleeding profusely.

"Get away from him!" Emer screamed again as Ayon was coming closer, his eyes sparkling with hate.

Legolas yanked her away from Ayon.

"Don't come any closer to her," he uttered to Ayon.

"Who are you and what is your argument with me?"

__

:That,: sighed Tinviel, pushing Ayon away from Legolas, _:was not what I meant. I said go to "her", not "him".:_

:I . . .: started Ayon.

__

:Oh shut up, child. Go to your sister and help her.:

Abruptly Ayon sheathed his blade and turned away.

"I shall deal with you later, Legolas. I am not finished with you," Ayon said over his shoulder. He walked through the shocked crowd to Ayala.

__

:Sister,: he mind-sent. _:Please wake up . . .:_

He lifted her body carefully.

__

:She's in shock,: said the Companion. Tinviel nuzzled Ayala a little. After several seconds, Ayala opened her eyes.

"I hurt," she said.

"You collapsed," Ayon replied soothingly.

"Where . . ."

__

:Your idiot brother just tried to kill your idiot lover . . .: said Tinviel. Ayala looked at her. The Companion's eyes were shining oddly.

__

:If I didn't know better, I would say you liked that . . .: Ayala mind-sent.

__

:I thought you had not wanted me to,: said Ayon.

__

:Well?: said Tinviel.

Ayon smirked outright and helped Ayala to stand.

"You hit him?" asked Ayala.

"Yes," said her brother, still smiling.

There was a long pause, then the three moved away from the crowd.

They found residence on the floor of Lothlorien so Tinviel would be near.

They talked for a long time, Ayala trying to convince Ayon to leave Legolas alone, sometimes hysterical, sometimes calm, Ayon arguing against such a plan. It was late in the evening when they left their temporary dwelling. Ayala had changed to black clothing, which emphasized her strength and beauty. Her boots, once green, had been dyed the same color. Ayon wore dark blue to compliment his sister.

__

:Heralds aren't supposed to wear black,: said Tinviel. _:They wear white. All Companions are white . . .:_

:We could dye you black . . .: said Ayon.

__

:You could, but it wouldn't last. Our aura would bleach our coat white again. Well, let's head back to the company. Elrond is going to be mighty pleased with you, Ayon . . .:

"Indeed," Elrond responded, overhearing. His face softened. "Ayon. I do not know the reason for your anger at Legolas. If you wish to tell me, I will listen, but I must ask you to cease all hostility against him. He is a trusted friend."

Elrond clasped Ayon's forearm. "My young friend . . . if we turn on each other, what hope have we against the Dark Lord? This is not our way.

"I must go, and search for my daughter, and I wish not to leave with a heavy heart, a heart full of worry that there is fighting here in this sacred place, among our own people. I beseech you, end your quarrel with Legolas before it grows any deeper. I ride out within the hour. Legolas will be good counsel, seek his advice. Farewell."

~*~

Silverstar watched as Ayala and her brother went away from the party. Only then did he walk towards Legolas and Emer.

__

'Let me look at you,' he said to Legolas, his voice oddly detached. He pushed Emer away gently, but firmly. When she tried to move forward, Silvermoon grabbed her arm.

"Will you interfere always, child? Even when we try to help you?" Silvermoon asked coldly.

Silverstar closed his eyes. The Elf's knees gave as his head was filled with a momentary pain, and Silverstar grabbed him.

__

'The nose was broken. It is healed now, though it shall be a bit tender for a time.'

Legolas began to thank him, but Silverstar turned around abruptly.

__

'Come brother,' he said. _'We are finished here for now.'_

Legolas drew Emer back into his arms. She shrank in fear from Deagol, who hissed at her. He took her hand, the hand Deagol had once bitten, wondering if any residual poison remained from the bite, wondering if it would harm the child Emer carried, wondering where Ayala was, somewhere nearby. He watched Silverstar's back. Silverstar's eyes had been cold. He did not understand, either.

The crowd murmured as Elrond departed in haste. He had not even questioned Deagol, so deep was his grief over Arwen. If Luthan were missing, Legolas would move heaven and earth to find him.

Emer was crying. There was no need to question why, for she too knew Ayala was near.

"Hush, Emer, Deagol will not harm you now, look, he can barely move, I will kill the wretch before he comes near you again." Legolas whispered, searching for phrases of comfort, his head spinning at the blow of Ayon and the sudden healing of Silverstar and the nearness of Ayala.

He stroked Emer's hair, still speaking softly to her, as several others came near in an effort to help him decide what to do with Deagol. Whoever had been left in charge by Elrond would have to decide quickly, otherwise Legolas would deal with Deagol himself.

Legolas blanched when Ayon was brought forward as the one who had taken control in Elrond's stead. At his side was Ayala. She was fair, her head held proudly, her face ivory pale. Their eyes met and Legolas felt himself drowning. He could not look away, though he wanted nothing more, he could not speak, or think. Emer had not seen her yet. He held her against his chest, his hand still absently moving over her hair, and spoke to Ayala at last with his eyes.

"I am sorry, so sorry . . ."

Emer grew quiet, pushing the hair back from her face, lifting her eyes. Ayala, always Ayala. Emer met Ayala's steady gaze. With her heart, she sent out a plea, and it was in her eyes for anyone to see.

"Please don't take him away from me."

Ayala's gaze faltered, and she swerved backwards. Ayon grabbed her arm.

"Are you all right?" Ayon asked, whispering.

__

:No, I am not all right!: she sent vehemently. _:I love him, Ayon! But I cannot go and take him!:_ Tears started to form in her eyes. _:I've searched long for Legolas, Legolas who I grew up with, Legolas who I love! But I cannot . . . I . . . I will not take him!:_ She whirled away, the pain evident to everyone near.

Silverstar, who had stood near Emer, winced. The pain, though blocked, was strong to his empathy and it nearly sent him to his knees.

__

This . . . is not supposed to be, he thought to himself. _Legolas shares a strong bond to Ayala, and yet there is a force guiding Emer and him together._

He walked to Emer. _'Let her be,'_ he said to Legolas.

The response was written plainly in Legolas' eyes; no.

There was a crack in Silverstar's mask of calmness.

__

'Then so be it! You believe that I do not know your mind when I can read and feel it clearly? Let go of her. Now!!'

There was no way to argue; the command was impossible to ignore. Legolas let go of Emer.

__

'You will come with me, Emer, and we shall talk alone. If you dare to come near me, Legolas Greenleaf, I assure you that you shall have more to worry about than just Ayon. Is that clear, boy?'

"Yes," said Legolas, his voice tight.

__

'Then do what you think is right,' said Silverstar his voice softer. _'I pray you find your way.'_ Silverstar led Emer away from the others. When he turned to her, he saw she was crying. Silverstar winced in pain.

__

'What has happened to you? Once you were a strong fighter, now . . . now you have become weak, clinging to others?'

Emer sobbed harder. Silverstar sighed.

__

'Why, Emer? You know in your heart that you are attempting to cut a bond that cannot be cut. You make it harder by leaning on Legolas as you do and not just for Ayala. I do not want to hurt you, Emer. Please,' Silverstar stopped, his voice filled with emotion he had not meant to use. _'Please talk to me. I shall do anything I can to help you . . .'_

"You cannot help me," said Emer with sadness so infinite that Silverstar looked away. Emer's voice was thick with emotion. "Everything I have done I have done for love. Since first I saw him, I loved him, and carried him in my heart since that day, I knew, I knew I would do anything, anything, to be one with him, and in despair, I turned to Mordor, and my prayer was granted, and now it is too late, we are joined, if there was so strong a bond between Legolas and Ayala he would never have joined with me, I carry his child. I was the vessel of evil, that night, until he touched me, and the evil was poured out, and I am free, free to love him, as it was meant to be. I do not care if I sold my soul, Silverstar, so much I wanted to be by his side, to love him. I don't expect you to understand."

She took his hand suddenly, imploring him with her eyes, which were green as agates now, and bright.

She shared with him the memory of the first time she had met Legolas, in Fangorn, under the willow tree, they had talked, and in the space of a few words Emer's heart had belonged to him without reserve, and she had known love, though he had not been aware of it then.

But now Legolas knew. Emer placed her hands on each side of Silverstar's head and pressed her forehead against his. Now he felt what she felt for Legolas, now there would be no doubt that everything she had done was because of that love.

Emer gasped, breaking away from him, her hand flying to her abdomen. Luthan was moving for the very first time. It was wondrous, joyful. She brought Silverstar's hand to her stomach so he could feel it, too. It should be Legolas here.

Legolas, who might now be alone with Ayala.

Emer dropped Silverstar's hand as if it were burning hot and sprinted away, back the way they had come.

__

'Emer! Stop!' called Silverstar.

Silverstar caught Emer. She tried to get away and he struggled to hold her, but somehow he managed.

__

'Emer! What is wrong with you? You are truly blinded. It is true that your love is real, and the evil is mostly drained from you. Why is the bond, as you say, weak? Because, like Companions, they must be together. Then the bond will grow stronger.'

Emer tried to struggle away at his last words. He slapped her, stunning her to stop moving.

__

'Listen, Emer! I know these things better than you. You think that if you try to go to him, keep him away from Ayala, then he shall never leave you? The bond between Ayala and Legolas began before he met you. Even when they were parted for many long years, the bond was still there. You cannot break it, even if it is weak. Do you realize the pain you are causing? Ayala has weakened so much from this ordeal, that she could kill herself. You saw how she nearly fainted numerous times. Do you know what would happen if Ayala died, Emer? Legolas would go into depression. The bond that they share would be broken and he would be left with an emptiness he did not even realize could be . . . and he may die. Please Emer, listen to reason! I understand what it is to love someone who was out of reach!'

His last words rang out with a sharp cry of pain. He had not meant to say that. Emer looked up at him, her eyes full of curiosity.

__

'I loved, once. She loved another,' said Silverstar, his voice flat. Only his eyes showed the pain. _'The two had a bond that I could never break, like Legolas and Ayala. A bond I did not understand fully at the time. I was worse than you. I decided that if I could not have her, than I . . . would kill her. I had not realized who she was fully . . . what would happen . . .'_

Silverstar stopped. Emer's eyes grew as she realized what he was saying.

__

'Yes, Emer. I attempted to kill Lunea, who loved my brother. They still share a bond and I still love her, though differently now because I was reborn. But the memory of what I attempted to do shall never leave me. Never. I shall always remember, shamefully, how I almost killed Lunea and my brother.'

Emer did not answer him for a long time. It grew so quiet she thought perhaps he had left her here.

She wondered if it mattered, as she stared straight ahead at the trunks of the Mallorn trees, huddled together as if conspiring against her.

Silverstar's hand was on her shoulder. Maybe it had been there all along. She pushed it away slowly. "Do you think I do not know the pain I caused Ayala?" she said bitterly, her voice barely audible. "I do not regret what I have shared with Legolas, I would do it all again, I would beg the Dark Lord again. You say you once loved as I do now, you speak to me like a child, how little you understand." Emer was sorry as soon as she said those words.

"I know I should have stayed with you, and continued my studies to be a healer." She laughed suddenly. "I could heal nothing, only bring ruin. You are well rid of me, Silverstar. I would not lose Legolas. Perhaps I already have. He was never mine to begin with. But still I have loved him with my whole heart, and at last he knows it, and if he will break my heart, then let it be, I had one shining moment with him and that was enough, all I ever wanted, and more."

Emer fled, away from Silverstar, and the flets of the Galadrim, seeking the river, and solitude.


	58. Bitter Reunion

****

Chapter Fifty-eight

Bitter Reunion

"Ayala, wait," Legolas called, his voice breaking.

He tied Deagol to a tree, begging Silvermoon to keep watch over it so he could speak to Ayala.

Silvermoon relented.

Another chance to speak to her might never come, and even though she turned away, he tried. It was impossible to explain it all when he had so little understanding himself.

"Ayala, the night I left the Fellowship, I went to Emer to confront her, to ask her why she would not stay out of my thoughts, and dreams, I never intended what happened between us, but now that it has, and she is with child . . ."

He paused, unwilling to speak any half-truths that would damage their bond further. "I am drawn to her, Ayala, as though I were caught in a swiftly moving river. She gives me love, she would hand me her heart if she could. I took her innocence, and joined with her because of it; I did not know what else to do, after the way I betrayed you I thought never would you come near me again, I am sorry, I can never tell you how much, for all that has come between us."

His voice left him, and he looked away, hoping she would speak, and not expecting her to at all. He knew he had no right to beg her forgiveness, no right to want to take her in his arms, so that she would know beyond any shadow of doubt. She would never allow his touch again. He could not look at her now, so fair she was in the liquid darkness of Lorien, her skin pale as the first snowdrifts, her eyes bright with betrayal.

Ayala paused and gently forced Legolas' face to hers. She stared at him, straight in his eyes.

"You wish so easily for me to forgive," she said. "I see that. But you and I know it cannot be so easy. You betrayed me and have a child with another now, after you asked for my hand. But," Ayala's voice faltered, "I will not say that I do not want you back." She stepped back and removed half of the circlet. "Legolas, the bond between us cannot be broken, not by betrayal or any other thing, except death. I want you back!" she said forcefully. "But, I will not take you. Not when Emer has asked me not to, as a child would. You must come to me and take this circlet, as I wrote to you, and reforge it. Then . . ." She brushed the hair out of his face, then laid her hand on his cheek. Tinviel pushed her from behind, and she stumbled into Legolas' arms.

"Tinuviel!" she cried.

__

:What? What? Just because there's a problem doesn't mean you can't hug him! Cha! You still love him, and I think he still loves you!:

Ayala looked up to Legolas. "What say you?" she asked gently, her face coloring as the situation was made harder by the predicament Tinviel had put her in.

__

:I'll get you for this,: Ayala growled through the link between her and her Companion.

__

:I couldn't help catching the fragment in your mind about how wonderful his . . .:

:Tinviel . . .:

:. . . arms would feel around you. Naughty child. I know your thoughts . . .:

Tinviel pranced around them, her eyes smiling.

When Ayala came into his arms, he knew the happiness and peace he had always known with her, before he had destroyed it. He could not ask her to forgive, knowing he had no right. So he held her close, and no more words were spoken.

Emer came upon Legolas and Ayala embracing. She stood for only a moment before turning her back. She returned to the flet she had shared with Legolas. The ladder was still down.

She left the garland he had given her on the bed, the bed he would most likely share with Ayala now.

She filled her water bottle hastily, spilling some on the floor. From her pack she took her traveling clothes, changing into them quickly.

She knotted her hair behind her, and covered it with an old brown shawl she carried. Now she would be another farm woman on the road, no one would pay her any heed.

The archers called to her when she crossed the bridge, asking why she left. They did not recognize her with her hair covered and her eyes so dull.

"Shoot me down then," she called back. "I was only a guest here and my business is done. Cannot a woman return home unharried?"

She turned away before receiving an answer, uncaring. It would be a long trek back to Mirkwood. There were dangers on the road. She would travel by water if she could find a way.

Tomorrow. She would think about it tomorrow.

Tonight there was nothing left to do but walk.

~*~

Deagol clambered down the road after the Elf-girl.

Silly, careless Elves. Once wicked Legolas had gone and he had chewed through the cruel rope, the rest was easy, he'd bitten two. Their screams were delightful.

One of their arrows had glanced off his flank as he ran from the hideous forest, and he stopped at the river to bathe quickly. It still burned, but more needful was the burning for the pretty string of stones and leaves in the Elf-girl's hair. It was covered now, he could not see it, how he wanted it, even more than the silver leaves cruel Legolas had taken from him. The green stones were like the deep pond, like the moss and slime on the cool rocks, where sweet fish hid.

The Elf girl was moving very fast. She had grown tired, hadn't she, tired of Legolas pawing at her, she was only another possession to him, a pretty thing to be used and cast aside. He hid in the woods, and came up alongside.

Her eyes were not bright and fearful now, and she was lovely to look at, forlorn with her face downcast, shadowed. He still could not see the precious thing he would take from her, under the cloth that covered her hair. He would wait till she slept.

~*~

Ayala pushed Legolas gently away from her, still holding the half circlet. Her eyes were distant as she was contacted through telepathy. Then she cursed.

"Follow me! Emer has gone off!"

Without another word, Ayala dragged Legolas after her.

__

I hope I am not too late to catch up to her!! thought Ayala. _I should never . . . maybe we were not meant to be . . ._ Ayala's eyes began to sting with tears at the thought. _They're wedded all ready and I am just in the way. I have to tell her that! I have to save her child!_

Tinviel jumped in front of them.

__

:Up,: she said, and Ayala jumped onto the Companion's back, Legolas following her.

__

:She'll just keep going away as long as I'm here, Tinviel,: cried Ayala into her Companion's mind. _:I wanted him back, but . . .:_

:You don't want to hurt her anymore, Pureheart. I know.:

"We have to save her!!"

__

Look to the sky,

See the stars shining above.

The moon, casting its warmth,

Just for you . . .

And in the darkening night,

We shall stand with all of our might,

Towards a perilous fight,

Facing the doom . . .

Three souls, turned into one,

Fighting past the doom,

Together they shall stand,

Far above the moon.

And even on their knees,

Their powers soar above the trees,

Changing all of history.

Through the pain shared,

They shall learn to work as one.

And their common love,

Shall bind them for eternity.

No longer they cling to the past,

Now understanding each other at last,

No longer hiding behind their own mask,

They face the doom.

Three souls turned into one,

Fighting against the doom,

They shall rise far,

Beyond the moon.

And even on their knees,

They combine their powers with ease,

Protecting history

Eternally.

Ayala realized she was the one singing as Emer and Silverstar came into view.

~*~

Silverstar followed Emer in the trees, wary of Deagol, though Deagol was not wary of him. He jumped down in front of Emer and grabbed her by the wrists.

"Let me go! Legolas is gone from me now! What do you want of me?" cried Emer.

__

'I want you to stop running. I had not meant to say such painful things to you, Emer. But running shall not help you. You are in danger and put your child in harm's way by leaving Lothlorien. Return with me, but if you will not, let me come with you, at least.'

Emer laughed weakly. "You have been doing that anyway."

Silverstar's voice was sorrowful and serious. _'Emer. You are bounded to Legolas by marriage and a child. Please do not turn your back on that. I shall help you any way I can.'_

"You meant everything you said to me, Silverstar, or you would not have said what you did. Mages do not lie. You have done enough for me, I will ask no more of you. I want to go home now." Emer was shocked at how cold her own voice sounded in her ears, like someone else's voice.

"I do not turn my back on Legolas, or our joining. He does not love me, Silverstar. Were you not trying to tell me that earlier? I heard you. I saw them embrace, it is clear enough to me now, clear enough that I feel as though I have been hit in the chest with a very large hammer. You were right, there is a bond between them, and a mountain between him and me, and I wish we had kept running to Eriador and beyond and never never returned, I should have said yes, I should have said yes, when he asked me, and now it is too late. I will treasure the time we spent together, on the run, even if it was an illusion and I am only a responsibility to him now, even I am not such a fool not to see it, Silverstar. I will hire someone to accompany me to Mirkwood, since you think me so feeble. The fault is mine, all of it, and now I shall pay the price, and the price will be very great indeed. I cannot return to Lorien and watch as they are drawn closer together, if my heart were still alive that would surely break it."

Emer breathed against the tears she would not let fall, until her eyes cleared. Her heart lurched as she heard someone singing, and the words were clear now. Luthan slowly rolled over inside her. 

It was surreal, everything, like a nightmare that would not end.

Ayala and Legolas were coming. Emer could see Ayala's hair shining in the starlight, and Legolas' dark hair, like a raven's wing. She felt she was watching some scene from afar that had nothing at all to do with her. She looked away when Legolas was near enough to see into her eyes. Silverstar caught her hand. She squeezed his fingers before letting go.

"Please take me home," she whispered, covering her face with her hands so they would not see the tears she could no longer stop. Luthan moved again, as if to remind her of all that was lost forever to her now, and she wept in humiliation and shame and grief, and a great emptiness welled up inside her.

Legolas gave Ayala a deeply apologetic look and dismounted.

"I must speak to her, Ayala." The words of her song still reverberated around them all, intensifying how much he had missed her. He moved slowly toward Emer. Silverstar's expression was protective, but he nodded slightly, moving back.

"Emer," said Legolas very softly reaching for her. She stiffened when he put his arm around her.

"Emer, where are you going? Why are you leaving me like this?" He drew the cloth back from her hair. No garland sparkled there, as if the day of their joining had never occurred.

"Emer, where is your garland? What has happened? Please, tell me." He pulled her hands gently away from her face. "Look at me, talk to me." He stroked an errant tendril of hair away from her face, his fingers going under her chin. He lifted her face, forcing her to look at him.

Her eyes were voluminous jade, shining with tears.

Desire rose in him, threatening, and he wanted her, wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her, but he did not, somehow he knew at this moment that would only hurt her more.

"Emer, please, come home with us now, it is not safe out here, alone in the dark."

Ayala jumped down from the Companion.

"Why?" she asked. "Why do you wish to leave? You have friends here. People who wish to help you. You are not alone. Legolas and I have not come together yet. I still hold the circlet half," she said, almost as if reading Emer's mind. "I want to help you."

__

'As do I, Emer,' said Silverstar. _'Will you turn the light down when it comes to you? You are not feeble . . . only confused. And,'_ he looked at her, a smile playing along his lips, _'if you believe that Mages cannot be wrong, then you know very little of us Mages. We can be . . . very foolish and make mistakes like all mortals. You are not a responsibility to me, student, and like a Companion, I love you.'_

Silverstar put a hand on her shoulder and sent strength down a bond he had created to the mother and child, a bond of his life force that would end eventually.

"Emer, if you leave, I shall follow you," said Ayala stubbornly. "You carry a child and need help. Tinviel can carry us . . . anywhere. Please . . . don't go."

Ayala took Emer's hands.

"Let us be like friends, like sisters. We shall help each other forever and face the darkness . . ."

Emer nodded mutely, and let their will be done for now. She embraced Ayala, feeling brittle, and lost. She took Silverstar's hand, glancing fearfully at the horse.

"I . . . I will walk, with Silverstar. If it is alright." Those were all the words she could get out, except to tell Silverstar that she loved him, too.

Ayon was waiting on the bridge, and breathed with relief when he saw Ayala's Companion come into view. His brow furrowed when he saw Legolas was with her.

"I'm not done with you yet, Greenleaf," he muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening.

Ayala appeared shaken but unhurt. The same could not be said for Legolas' lifemate, who was trembling.

"I've got bad news," he said to them all. "The creature escaped."

__

'He was following Emer,' put in Silverstar.

Emer's eyes grew even wider with horror. She looked about to speak, but said nothing.

As soon as Ayala climbed down Ayon whisked her away protectively, fuming when she glanced backward at Legolas.

"Ayon Proudbow," called Elodin, climbing down from his post. He was one of the archers on the watch. "I saw the creature escape. If you will find another to take my post, I would like to go and recapture it."

Ayon nodded indignantly. Elodin acquired some chains and a net and set off at once.

Within a quarter of an hour he returned with Deagol snapping at his heels. Several of the Horde came to watch as the creature was dragged back into Lorien, cheering.

Deagol was chained to the trunk of a tree. Elodin hunkered down on all fours, wasting no time. This was a slippery creature who had gotten away all too easily.

He brought his face as close to those snapping jaws as he dared, since it was evident the eyes of Elves had some intimidating effect on the creature.

"Why are you following Emer and Legolas?" he asked, deadpan. "What is your purpose in Lorien?"

"We will not tell you!" Deagol hissed, and spat at the Elf who finally withdrew for a moment. He covered his ears, but still he heard them considering their next questions in hushed tones.

"O nasty Elves, cruelest of all, we hates you, wicked cruel Elves, heartless who cannot let a wretch pass, the Dark Lord will punish you, slay you all, except for the Elf-girl, the fire has gone out of her eyes, they do not burn, they do not burn, they are like the cool green stones now, she is lovely."

"Why were you following her?" asked another Elf.

Deagol would not answer, and he rocked back and forth, hunched over his knees.

Disclaimer: I can't remember where the song is from, but I didn't write it.


	59. The Cell

****

Chapter Fifty-nine

The Cell. The Interrogation of Arwen.

Dry, her mouth was dry. There was a taste of dust in her mouth, and she could feel it in the pores of her skin, and in her hair. Her hands were gritty with it.

There was a crushing pain, in her head and neck.

They must have hit her from behind. She remembered only the road and the motion of the horse, and the cool wind like summer's last kiss.

Nothing until now.

When was now? How long had she been here? And where was here? She squeezed her eyes shut at the sudden vertigo and the nausea it brought, and knew she was injured worse than she had realized. She reached a tentative finger up to the back of her head, feeling through her hair a large lump. Her hair was sticky with blood, and dust. It was to her advantage that it was so dark, she knew light would send prisms of pain through her head right now.

Breathing deeply did not help, it only increased the dust in her lungs and the urge to cough, which brought wracking pain to her head and neck.

Orcs did not usually throw their quarry into cells. Whoever had captured her would be along to gloat, or to try and kill her, soon enough. Until then she would try not to retch, and not to think of the lake in Lorien, the cool water which could ease all pain.

She had not told the night watch where she had gone when she had ridden off. No one would know where to look for her.

Somewhere far beneath the floor, she felt a tremor. With it came the remnants of a roar. Even at this distance, with miles of stone between, Arwen knew that sound. She drew her knees up to her, curling her arms around them, shutting out all light.

Intathin did come, but not to gloat, and certainly not in his true form, which had not been seen for many many years and which he would not reveal until the end.

Instead he came in the guise of an Elf, shackled, bearing a candle, like a prisoner who had earned some precious liberties and now served the warden.

He peered in. Even now her beauty was beyond reproach, even now her noble bearing carried her as she lifted her head to meet his gaze. Evenstar, they called her, and he saw why behind his mask, even injured and despairing, she shone like the white star, the first to rise, the one who leads the way for all others to follow . . .

His malingering gaze had no effect, for she did not see him as he was, she saw only an Elf, trapped and desolate as herself, only a little better off on the other side of the cage.

"I bring water," he said, his voice sounding shrill. "And food."

"What place is this?"

"Barad-dur. The Dark Tower."

Intathin was struck when she did not shiver, or turn away.

"And who are you?"

Before he could begin to lie, a deep tremor shook the floor, and power flowed up and into him from far beneath his feet.

"The Balrog," he said, and smiled inside at her sharp exhalation. Now she had shown some respect for the denizens of Mordor.

__

You will learn, Arwen, he thought. _You will learn_.

Arwen held the gaze of the other Elf, an effort that cost her much, for the trembling floor and the rush of fear sent a shower of pain like sparks through her head. The stench of evil, and the presence of it through the floor was so great that Arwen retched violently, and lay spent on the floor. When she could sit up, she feared the other Elf would be gone, but he was still there, his candle guttering.

"I am in need of a healer," she rasped. "Have you one here, who could tend me?"

The Elf shook his head sadly. "I will bring you water, to cleanse your wound, and something to bind it, more than this I cannot do."

"How came you here?" she asked weakly, for he still had not answered. He scuttled off before telling her, taking the light with him, and utter darkness fell again. She leaned against the wall, willing her mind away from what lay curled in the bowels of this place, the manifestation of evil itself.

~*~

Intathin was both pleased and angered; pleased at the way Arwen saw in him an ally, and angered, for she was a heady distraction he could not afford right now. Her interrogation must begin soon. For now, he would enjoy toying with her, for her life dangled in his hands.

Barad-dur shuddered once again. The Balrog far beneath was reacting to Arwen's presence, a fact that had not been lost on her, judging by her expressions earlier. Fair she was to look upon, even though wounded and ill, never had he seen such a radiance and unwavering purpose. All the more satisfying when he broke her will at last . . .

He would let her be a while, before returning to her cell with the water he had promised, and then he would begin to strengthen the friendship between them.

~*~

Intathin entered Arwen's cell, the door slamming shut behind him with a menacing snick.

She raised her eyes to see a kindly old Man, stooped, peering at her with wizened eyes.

"I am Alvan. I am here to heal you."

Arwen was bright eyed, but not hopeful. "The Elf told me there was no healer within these walls."

"The Elf you spoke to is witless, a prisoner of the Dark Lord."

"You call him Intathin."

"Yes. Lord of the Nazgul he is, master of demons."

"In our language, 'Intathin' means 'dark-hearted'."

"And is there any opposing word for this?"

Arwen considered it. "If one was called 'Luthan,' his name would be the opposite."

"One called Luthan is on his way, though he will not make his appearance here in Mordor for many years to come."

"Sage words from a mere servant. You speak like a Wizard."

Intathin seethed at her boldness. "I was, once."

"And what are you now?"

"The instrument of his will. And so shall you be."

"Never."

Intathin chuckled. "Do you know to whom you speak?"

"Aye."

"So little respect, for the one you will call Lord in the end."

"I will not."

"I could kill you with a word, with a thought."

"Then do so."

"You are ever fond of death, Undomiel, you who bartered immortality for the love of a mortal Man. Tell me, why did you do it? Was the\ lure of the crown all too much for you? Is the Elven ego so great . . ."

"I loved him."

Intathin cringed. "And where is he now? Your noble King Elessar? And your fine son, Eldarion, who rules as regent in his place? Why do they not beat down the gates of this keep to save you?"

She did not answer. He let the silence fall like a guillotine between them.

"Tell me where you hid the Silmaril, and I will spare your life, and that of your son."

"I will not tell you that."

"Oh, but you will, in time. If I choose, no one will come here, there will be no light, nor any water, and you will be as the first Orcs were, a hideous thing bred from hatred, I will corrupt you. The Balrog wakes, sensing you, you are prey to him, you with your shining eyes and your Elven ideals of courage . . . how I hate your kind, Firstborn, Children of the Stars. When the great cleansing comes, you will be the first to go, and Melkor will be released, avenged. Tell me where the Silmaril is, or I will take you to the Balrog. He hungers for you, Arwen, whips of fire has he, he will burn the knowledge from you . . ."

Like a cat she leapt, straight at his face, and he slammed her to the floor in one cruel motion, her skull cracking against the stones. She lay broken, the threads of her life unraveling. Intathin left her there, when next he spoke to her she would be far more lenient . . .


	60. The Game is Afoot

****

Chapter Sixty

The Game is Afoot

Arwen shrank against the floor. Somewhere distant she heard someone moaning, unearthly was the sound of pain in that call.

Gradually she realized it was her own voice, as awareness seeped around the edges of her dulled vision, and the wracking pain in her head flowered anew. She had landed on her injury, and it was gravely worsened, and she felt cracked in two.

And then the Balrog far below moved, reminding her of all Intathin had said, and she despaired.

She must learn not to fear it, strength was all that would save her now, and she wept bitterly at how she wanted to live when all she had sought was death after Aragorn had gone from her life.

"Eldarion," she croaked. "My son, hear me, I am in great need." Arwen's eyes squeezed shut, and lights cartwheeled before her, dancing across the dark screen of her eyelids. She fought for focus, reaching out to her son, sending a mental picture of where she was.

The Sword of Elendil . . . Intathin must have taken it the moment he had her in chains. He would have it locked in some treasury, for a mighty treasure it was, though that black heart would never see its true worth.

She lay, hand outstretched, hair matted with blood, her face dirty and etched with pain, and called to the sword, pleading, with all the love she had for her husband now gone, who had carried the sword during his reign of peace, blessed peace.

Consciousness ebbed away, and she did not feel the cold fire of the hilt beneath her hand, until her eyes opened again.

Arwen struggled to her feet, her legs threatening to give way. The sword gave her new strength. She steadied herself against the wall until the dizziness eased somewhat, her vision doubled.

Now she would die fighting, on her feet. The dull gleam of the sword gave enough light to see by. Arwen did not question how it had come to be in her hand, knowing her despair and her need were so great it had.

She moved to the cell door. Hacking at it was out of the question, it would only bring them running.

The floor shook and she quailed.

"I must not fear," she whispered in the darkness, over and over till her heart was calm. She brought the tip of the sword to the lock on the door and gasped in amazement as the lock yielded. The Sword of Elendil . . . Arwen praised its name, and Aragorn's, for she knew his spirit was with her now as it had never been before.

Making no noise she stepped out into the corridor. The place was a dank maze, she would have to search unseen for a way out. She tried not to think of the barren black land waiting outside the tower, land where an Elf would be seen from leagues distant. She found a stairwell, and began to descend in silence, the sword before her.

Arwen moved in stealth, her back against the walls, ever downward. For every Orc she crept upon and killed, she must bend and drag the heavy body off, which sent searing pain through her head and neck, until she was nearly blind from it. She tried not to think about what the back of her head looked like now, she could feel the exposed nerves even in the dank heat and heavy air here, the weight of her head felt very different, wrong, and strange images came to dance in front of her vision, spiraling and spinning, threatening her consciousness. She feared the light of the glimmering sword would be seen in the thick darkness. The Balrog moved, much closer now, and she stifled a scream.

"I must not fear, I must not fear . . ."

She came to an archway. The air was cooler, and moved. A great expanse was in front of her, in the darkness. She felt around with the toes of her shoes for a small rock, picked it up and threw it. There was the echoing patter of it hitting the sides of something, and then nothing.

She leaned slowly forward, gripping the sides of the arch. A light slithered far, far, below, suddenly moving, turning, the light was all wrong, she had been misled. The light sped toward her now, and she ran, unheedful of the sound of her steps now, away from the Balrog, the sword before her, her hands white-knuckled on the hilt.

~*~

Intathin followed the trail of dead Orcs. Well hidden, they were. He had to give Arwen that much, she was determined.

He was not angry that she had somehow managed to regain the sword of Elendil. It would never slip from his grasp, nor would she.

She had nearly reached the stone courtyard. He let her go on, until she was within feet of the door, and light, sunlight, even the wan sunlight of Mordor she would cherish. Elves . . . they lived in the light, they had no gift to embrace the companionship of the darkness, with the exception of the Elves of Mirkwood, who dwelt in timeless darkness but still held the light in their hearts.

It was pathetic, for did not the world spend half its life in the dark? Elves were far too selective in the things they prized. It would ultimately be their downfall.

A disembodied voice spoke sweetly around Arwen's head. "Leaving so soon? The Balrog will be most disappointed, Undomiel. For the star to truly shine, there must be darkness, for to light a candle is to cast a shadow." With a wave of his hand she was slammed onto the flagstones, her wound deepening. Death would come creeping if she did not tell him what he wanted to know.

She was removed to another holding place, this one far closer to the Balrog's den, lest she forget whose house she was now a guest in.

In the Palantir he watched his emissaries at work, Mordel speeding to the North, Grool training his new army, a splendid creation with which Intathin was mightily pleased. The hatred the Burz-hai held for their masters was remarkable in its simplicity, perfect.

He watched the movements of Eldarion and his small army, and the Dwarves massing to the North, and smiled. The small party coming to call did not escape his notice, the young Dragon, the Halfling.

Perhaps he would tell them where the White Gem of Galadriel was hidden, just to make it more interesting. There were so few challenges these days . . .

~*~

Arwen was unraveling. To stand brought instant nausea and caused her to retch, and go on retching even though she had had no food or drink for the days or weeks or months she had been here.

"Eldarion, my son, Eithne, my daughter," she cried out in the voice of the heart. "I am in desperate need."

Her palms pressed flat against the wall she raised herself, standing still until the nausea was quelled somewhat. She forced her eyes open.

The back of her neck was sticky with blood, and dust. Despite the humid darkness, she shivered.

Infection had set in, and fevered chills, which would bring blindness, madness, death.

If death came calling she would meet it standing.

She felt her way around, reminding herself to breath, the air was so foul here that breathing worsened the nausea, so she must stop, and start, and stop.

With her hands and all her senses on alert, she learned the layout of the cell. It was ten feet by ten feet square, and in the center was a hole, roughly three feet in circumference. If she had turned or rolled the wrong way while unconscious, she would have fallen down it. Either this was what the Dark Lord wanted, or a trick of some kind.

She circled the cell one last time, feeling the greasy walls, which sweated with the humidity.

There was no opening of any kind. Either she had been dropped through the ceiling, or brought in through the hole in the floor.

She laid down as carefully as she could, pulling her hair away from her ear, and listened. Her hearing was still very keen, but she doubted her senses now because of the extent of the head injury. There was no hope but to try.

She tore from her neck a small blue stone on a chain Aragorn had given her long ago. It was not precious except in sentimental value. Laying it against the side of the hole, she dropped it, listening, holding her breath.

It whispered, sliding down, rather than falling without sound. She heard it come to a stop after several heartbeats. What lay after that, she could only guess.

She poised on the edge and slid down into the hole, gaining purchase on the sides with what was left of her shoes. Slowly she began to let herself down the tunnel.


	61. The Fellowship Grows

****

Chapter Sixty-one

Meduseld. The Fellowship Grows.

Elrond had just mounted his horse to leave when he saw a small party riding in from Dunharrow. He recognized immediately his grandson's dark hair and the gait of the black stallion he rode.

Elrond met them halfway. "Eldarion, though these are grievous times, I am pleased to see you."

Elrond's eyes narrowed, Eldarion was not himself, and something was terribly wrong in addition to his grief over his mother's disappearance.

He took Eldarion aside, and the young man told him of his love, and the fate she had met.

"The darkness has taken two of our finest, now," said Elrond darkly.

"No. Mother still lives, I heard her calling to me earlier."

"As did I. Rohan has pledged its forces to help free her."

"And Gondor. There is a Fellowship on the way to Mordor, attempting to steal the Gem of Galadriel."

"Them, we will aid as well."

"They should be near to Emyn Arnen already. We must go swiftly."

"There are none better to meet such needs than the steeds of Rohan. Come, and dine with us in Meduseld this night, and we will set out thereafter."

Eldarion agreed, reining in hard on his emotions.

~*~

The swiftest of all the steeds of Arda bore them far and fast, and soon Emyn Arnen was visible. They rode on without stopping, tireless, until they overtook the Fellowship of Draco.

"Hail, Draco," Eldarion called, and the young man looked up in recognition at the sound of Eldarion's voice, rushing forward to greet him.

Eldarion was too sorrowful to impart the details, so Elrond gently explained the urgency of their arrival, and that they hoped to aid the quest as well as find Arwen.

Elrond smiled at the young Halfling, who was obviously abashed, not knowing any of these strangers who had come among her company.

"This is Eldarion, son of Aragorn and Arwen," said Elrond. "And these are the Riders of the Rohirrim, and some of the guard of Minas Tirith, Draco's home. And I am Elrond, once of Imladris, now of Lothlorien."

Sil looked up at the arrival of Elrond and Eldarion. She saw the pain in the Man's eyes. How she knew the feeling. His pain brought back memories and Sil turned away to hide the tears forming in her eyes.

Looking at Mari, Sil felt sorry for her. Leaving home, doing an impossible task, being surrounded by strangers, and not knowing her mother's fate.

Poor Arwen, captured in Barad-dur, her son and father.

Sil sighed. She remembered long ago when she learned how to ride with the Rohirrim, but those warriors were all dead now.

Sil clucked to Glam and followed the others on the road to Mordor.

Eldarion saw something akin to his own heartache in the eyes of Silverberry. He tried to smile at her, and didn't know if he succeeded. She seemed to understand. He wondered if she was of Lothlorien, or Rivendell.

Marigold fussed and fretted over the newcomers.

"An Elven king, and the son of a King, and all these soldiers, they'll be used to kingly fare, what am I going to cook for them all, they're going to laugh out loud when they hear it's me going to burgle the gem," she babbled nervously to Draco.

He laughed uproariously. "Marigold, will you calm down, they're not here for the cooking. Relax now, and when we stop I'll help you, we'll hunt up something and you can stop worrying, and I'll introduce you to all of them."

Marigold wasn't soothed. When they did stop, she and Draco went hunting, and came back with some partridges, and wild onions, and Marigold set to work on them, using the last of the spices. Everyone seemed pleased and she felt a little relieved. Draco introduced her. She sat and listened to them talk, these grand people whom she never in a lifetime expected to meet, and wished her mother could see her now.


	62. Escape from Baraddur

****

Chapter Sixty-two

Escape from Barad-dur. Learning to Crawl.

Mordel walked into Barad-dur.

"My Lord, the Wizards used their magic on me. But I have found out that they plan to hide the Arkenstone, in a Dragon's lair, and I have found someone who can get it. May I present Delgoth."

As she said this, the snake slithered in front of Intathin. "My Lord," it hissed.

"Splendid, splendid." Intathin was delighted.

"You have done well, Mordel." His voice sinewed around her. "You are quite wrong, Mordel, I do care for you. No one could be immune to your beauty and your many charms."

He stretched out his hand to touch her face. The Orcs came to tend to Delgoth, who was well fed and given the luxury of Barad-dur. He turned his full attentions on Mordel now.

"Yours is the mortal beauty of old, Mordel, the sort Men wage war over. I knew you would not fail me." He became in her eyes then what she held most fair, and began his slow seduction of her. In his private chambers he languished, seeking her pleasure, and she rewarded him with lusty cries, and he clutched at her rich hair, crushing her to him. A weakness she could become, a terrible weakness. Spent, she lay beneath him, lips slightly parted, eyes closed.

An interruption came. "My Lord, Arwen has escaped."

Intathin sized up the situation quickly, giving Arwen full credit for her crafty departure. He summoned Delgoth.

"I have a very special task for you," he said in an oily voice. The snake was a careful listener. Intathin watched him depart, smiling.

~*~

Arwen came to a parting of the ways. On the left, the tunnel went down into darkness. On the right, it curved, sloping up. It was impossible to tell in the darkness what lay after that.

She held her breath. On the left came, very faint, the sound of running water. She chose the leftward way.

It was a sharper drop than she had expected, and she banged the back of her head, the blackness of the pain eroding consciousness, darker than the darkness. She screamed, and the echo filled her with terror. The walls shook and trembled as if the earth itself convulsed. The Balrog was closer than ever. Arwen whimpered, willing the pain away. She must not falter now. Running water meant land, somewhere, outside.

Her legs shook as she let herself down more slowly, the nameless terror growing. The Balrog could easily crash through the wall, or maybe it waited at the bottom of this seemingly endless pit, its jaws open. She stopped to listen.

Down and down she went, until the tunnel grew level. With her hands she determined she had reached an archway. She stood with trepidation, it was tall enough to accommodate her. She had nothing to toss forward to see if a cliff awaited her. Step by step she moved forward, inch by inch, her hands on the walls.

She nearly laughed out loud when a murky light seeped in. The way climbed up now. She reached the end of the tunnel and hauled herself up to her shoulders, looking out. The land was dead, and barren, but she knew that many eyes watched. She tried to look up, to see which stars shown and try to make out how many hours until dawn by their position. Only a few weak stars could be seen, and her vision was cloudy.

She shivered in her damp clothes. Infection was deepening. She crawled out and made a run for it.

She ran far, and fast, until the hour before dawn came with the faintest of glow in the East, and she stopped, gasping, to turn.

Barad-dur was behind, but not far enough. Once he realized she was gone he would send the creatures of evil after her. No distance would be great enough. Still she must try.

Arwen was bleeding profusely now, it ran into her eyes, and the dizziness grew, so that she was driven to crawl on hands and knees. The ground was black, covered with scoria that tore at her skin, and the stench sickened.

The daylight gave her some hope, and her clothes were so filthy it offered some protection. Malevolence burned behind her, and she knew the fell creatures of Mordor would come snapping at her heels.

She convulsed in horror when the snake appeared.

"Please," she choked, holding her hands in front of her, the only weapons she had left. "Let me go on, let me go . . ."

~*~

Intathin and Mordel watched in the Palantir.

"Look how she begs him," he roared. "Look at the Queen of all Gondor, on her knees, begging a snake to let her pass. Mordel, you are exceptional . . ."

And indeed, she was, in every way. He wove himself into her thoughts, until he reached a place where he could see himself as she saw him.

He was fair to look upon, the image of one Mordel had once loved.

When he chose to reveal his true identity, he would do so first to Mordel.

Mordel smiled as she watched Arwen beg with Delgoth. "Yes, he is the Horror of the Lords and Ladies, I suppose, but thank not me but Morgoth who created him." She smiled as she watched the snake coil around Arwen.

~*~

Delgoth slithered around Arwen's arm. "Yes," he hissed. "Come back with me, you will not make it far and it is better to come willingly than with a Nazgul. Nazgul might hurt the pretty queen." Arwen relaxed and did not notice Delgoth's venomous fangs.

Arwen gasped as the snake tightened its grip on her arm.

"No, I will not go back there . . ." Her words were stunted as the snake crushed harder, her breath taken. She tottered to her feet, staggering, in a bizarre dance, she lurched, holding the snake forward. With her free hand she seized it around the neck, and dove onto a sharp rock, so that the weight of her body forced the snake to impact on the jagged edges of the rock. It was pierced, one of its fangs broken off. Poison poured forth.

Arwen was mortally afraid, and ran, stumbling again, falling, in agony turning her head to look back. It still pursued, angry now, winding through the black sand with terrifying speed.

She screamed the name of her father, and her son, and scrambled on like a child just learning to walk, and still the snake advanced on her.

Geharion circled and shot down from the sky. The snake coiled only inches from Arwen. In his strong beak he lifted the serpent, bearing it aloft, and flung it into a great smoking fissure.

He dove back down.

"Lady Arwen, I will bear you away from here," he cried, as Arwen climbed with disbelief onto his back.

"Hold tightly," he commanded her. His left wing was still healing. Though she was light he must press on with all his might.

He carried her from the black and broken land, over the Marshes of the Dead, on and on, until he reached the Fellowship. He plummeted down, and Elrond and Eldarion rushed to him, lifting Arwen from him. Eldarion cried out at the grievous wounds of his mother, and they began to tend her immediately. The Ent, Graybough, was near. Geharion rested in his limbs, watching the sky.

The Nazgul could come yet.

Elrond cradled his daughter in his arms. A soft bed was made from their cloaks, and Elrond laid her upon it. The others gave them privacy as they bathed her, bruised and broken as she was. Her breathing was thready and irregular, and Elrond was stricken to the heart at the wound of her skull, it was deep and fearful. She was fevered, and he bathed her brow repeatedly, holding her bandaged head carefully. Her face was gaunt, and dark rings lay under her eyes. Her eyes moved behind their lids, and Elrond knew she saw horrors past imagining. He brought a cup of water to her lips, most of it spilled. She was unable to drink it yet.

"Arwen, do not leave me," he whispered to her. "Stay with me." He sang softly to her. Her eyes moved no longer, she had drifted to some nameless place where he could no longer reach her. He held her, and prayed for her, still singing softly.

"Grandfather," said Eldarion in despair. "Her wounds are too great for us. I will take her back to Minas Tirith, there she can be healed."

After a long silence, Elrond agreed. Eldarion turned to Silverberry, who was near.

"Will you come with me?" he asked. There was great empathy in her, and he felt a trust between them though he could not say why, a shared pain.

He looked into her eyes.


	63. The Sundering

****

Chapter Sixty-three

The Sundering

Legolas was quiet as Ayala went off with her brother, and he felt a pang of envy at the easy friendship between Silverstar and Emer. Silverstar released Emer's hand, gazing at her.

__

'I will be nearby,' he said to her.

"I will take care of her," snapped Legolas, and grasping Emer's arm led her away. They did not speak until they arrived back at the flet they now shared.

Legolas stared in disbelief at the garland on the bed. Quickly he picked it up. The stones were cool in his hands, and he ran his fingers over them. He placed it back in her hair, surprised at how the sight of her without it had disturbed him so, dismayed at the lust she stirred in him. He bent to kiss her and she pulled away from him. She was trembling.

"Emer, please tell me what is wrong, and where you were going." He clutched at her wrists, pulling her close.

"Let go of me, Legolas." It was the hardest thing she had ever had to say but somehow she got the words out.

"No, I won't."

She wrenched her hands free. "Silverstar said some harsh words to me. Harsh, but true. He showed me the reality of what I have done, to you, and to Ayala. And your embracing her gave clarity, and I don't want to face it, but I must. I know that you do not love me, and I want to be more to you than an object of lust, and never I will be, and I have known it all along but never faced it, until I saw you embracing Ayala. I know that you love her, and she loves you. I would give anything to be loved by you as she is. I wanted to go home, to Mirkwood, and I still do. I would not put Luthan in danger, for I love him more than I can say." She rushed to get all the words out before her throat closed.

"I would not trade the time I had with you, and I count those days as the happiest of my life, and always will. But I would not bring you hurt, to keep you close to me, when it is not what you wanted, you tried to tell me that night, when you came to me in the Field of Celebrant. I would not listen. I have heard now. It is not too late."

She lifted the garland from her hair, coiling it in her palm. She took his hand and laced it through his fingers.

"I release you, from our joining." She went to his pack, taking out the two halves of the golden circlet, and brought the pieces to him.

"Reforge it." His hands were shaking as he took them from her. She reached up, and kissed his cheek with all the love she felt for him, and took her pack, and left.

Near the edge of the wood she found a small flet that was unoccupied, as were most around it. It looked as though a child had once lived here. That seemed fitting enough to Emer. She let her pack fall to the floor and sat on the edge of the platform, her legs dangling. The loneliness settled around her heart, the empty ache she would have to get used to now. She watched the stars, and listened to the trees tell each other secrets, and prayed to the Valar to give her strength, and to forgive her her sins, and to keep the hand of the Dark Lord far from her and Luthan.

~*~

Legolas sat alone and dazed after Emer left him, her garland still in his hand, and the feel of her lips on his cheek still burning. He stared at the small scar on his palm, meaningless now, symbol of a joining that had shattered. He knew what it had taken for her to say what she had, to place this garland back in his hands, and the circlet. The opal winked at him in the starlight. He set the two halves aside.

He wept for Emer, for the unspeakable hurt he had caused her. He was not worthy of the love she had given him without reservation, nor was he worthy of Ayala's deep, abiding love. He thought long on his time with Emer; the way she had sung, the sound of her laughter, the simple and sweet way she took joy in the smallest of things, things that escaped the notice of most.

Though his lust for her was very real, there was love too, far more than he had realized. Already he missed her. He would go to her now, and talk to her, but he did not, knowing he was the last person she wanted to see right now. He would be reminded every day by his son how he had failed her.

A sudden image came to mind, the image of Emer's garland of silver leaves, when he had taken them from Deagol. Tarnished, tainted, ruined. The irony stabbed at him and he wept for her anew.

How must she have felt, seeing him embracing Ayala, at that moment Emer had been the furthest thing from his mind and heart. Emer had seen it.

And Ayala . . . what must she think, now, trapped in the middle of all this, this mess he had created.

He couldn't stand another minute here, and he scrambled down the ladder, striding off with no direction in mind, the garland still in his hand.

~*~

Silverstar and Ayala sat watching the stars.

"Things . . . have happened too fast," said Ayala, her voice thick with many conflicting emotions.

__

'Yes. But it was the right thing to do,' said the Mage.

"I do not know. Was it for the right? She loves him. What if I were in her place now?"

__

'You would do the same as she has.'

Ayala clenched her fists, her eyes uncertain, then sat up straight.

"My circlet half! Where?"

__

'Taken.'

Ayala stared at the Mage with big, round eyes full of nervousness. Silverstar stood up. _'I am leaving to find Emer. There are some things I wish to talk to her about.'_

"Wish her well," said Ayala. "I am going to remain here."

__

'Very well.'


	64. Silverstar and Emer

****

Chapter Sixty-four

Silverstar and Emer

Silverstar turned away and began to wander around Lothlorien. Those who saw him believed him to be blind, walking aimlessly. He finally stopped, and looked to a small flet.

__

'Good day,' said Silverstar. _'I have come to keep you company . . . and speak of your child. May I speak with thee?'_

"If you wish," Emer answered listlessly. She wanted to be left alone. The water pitcher was empty, and she had no desire to go and fill it.

Her hair was lank and dirty. Maybe later she would go and bathe in the river.

She had found a sturdy branch which curled around the flet, to lean her head against. Her feet dangled aimlessly, and she stared uncaring at the Mallorn trees. Silverstar sat beside her. She was barely aware of him.

Silverstar snapped his fingers in front of Emer's face, bringing her partly back. He was smiling.

__

'It is not good to wander in the clouds. If you fall, it shall hurt a lot.'

"I have already fallen," said Emer.

Silverstar's face became serious. _'Yes. Then let us pick the pieces and put it back together as well as possible.'_

"I do not think that shall work."

__

'You do not think it shall work because you do not want it to. Now that Legolas is gone, there is nothing left, you think. But there is a child, and friends, though perhaps not the same as the love you shared with him. He will always remain a close friend to you, Emer. Closer than many ever will be to him.'

"Not closer than Ayala . . ."

__

'How optimistic . . .' the Mage said with a smile. _'You remind me of myself. But now . . . now I have something else to tell you. You have not noticed what I have done because you are too full of grief to notice . . . your friends . . .'_

Silverstar sighed heavily, wearily. _'I have been sending you strength through a bond I created to you and your child. You will need it because of your pain. Then when my powers run out . . .'_

Silverstar laughed. _'What a lovely night . . .'_ he said suddenly, changing the subject.

"Yes, it's wonderful," said Emer sarcastically. "The air is filled with romance, except for the two of us. Can you not leave me alone? I am supposed to turn off my heart now, after leaving him only today?"

She grabbed her pack and scrambled down the ladder, falling before she got to the bottom of the stairs. It was not far.

"Now I have fallen again!" she screamed. "You cannot put back together what is no longer whole, Silverstar. Please waste no more on me. Save your strength for the war that is coming. That is all any of us can do now."

She fled once again, to the river this time. She dumped the contents of her pack. The sun was coming up. The silver garland Deagol had stolen, lay on top. She pulled it out from her clothes and flung it into the river. She washed her clothes, scrubbing them with sand from the soft riverbed, and hung them on a tree. Except for a green dress, which was carefully rolled up. She unrolled it, tied a rock to it and hurled it into the river. She took off the clothes she was wearing and washed them too. Her dagger flashed in the grass. She searched around for her whetstone and sharpened it.

She gathered her hair over her shoulder and began hacking at it, until it lay in great clumps on the grass. She threw it in disgust into the river and it floated off like red seaweed.

Her hair came only to her shoulders now, jagged and uneven. A perfect reflection of what she was.

She dove into the river and scrubbed herself with sand, and washed what remained of her hair, and her underclothes, and sat shivering and dripping until she was dry enough to wrap her cloak around her. She picked up her dagger and threw it, and it landed near the rest of her things. Close enough.

There was no noise here, only the sound of the river, and she curled up behind a tree and let the tears fall at last until she was too tired to cry any more.

~*~

Silverstar lay back and sighed.

"What nonsense . . ." said Silvermoon.

__

'Stop, brother. She is young and does not understand. To her, romance is the most important thing, and when there is none, there is just emptiness and pain.'

Silvermoon sighed. "You're right. It just pains me that she does not realize what you have done for her."

__

'So?'

Silvermoon's eyes darted to Silverstar. A fire of great intensity burned behind his eyes. "You're going to die, Silverstar! You and I know that! Part of that link is to the child, giving the child your power and protection; the testing! And she doesn't understand that! All she can see is her own pain!!" yelled Silvermoon at the top of his lungs.

Silverstar sat up and eyed Silvermoon curiously.

__

'Brother . . .'

The Mage of Fire turned his face away, hiding the tears. "The testing does not get any easier . . . who shall comfort us Mages before we die?"


	65. The River

****

Chapter Sixty-five

The River. A Gift for Tolar.

When Emer woke it was late afternoon, and hot. She dressed in the driest of her clothes, brown leggings and a tunic, and tied the brown shawl around her waist, which was getting harder to find every day. She ran her hands through her hair, which felt strangely light now, and flipped up at the ends as if rebelling against her cutting it.

She was hungry, but not hungry enough to go back to the main encampments. She had foraged nearly all her life, it mattered not. She found berries, and the strange acorn of the Mallorn, which tasted awful but were filling and gave energy. She drank, and talked to Luthan for a while, describing the shapes of the clouds to him.

Listless, she gathered berries and flowers, and some of the tiny reeds that grew beside the river. Placing some stones in a ring, she found her tinderbox and flints and made a small fire. She heated the reeds, and crushed the berries, some black, others dark green, and tattooed the heraldry of her family onto her left forearm. It was tedious work, and felt like the constant stinging of an angry bee, and her back ached from leaning over when she was done. There was her family's symbol, just as it had been on her silver garland, a blackbird surrounded by a circle of leaves.

She lifted her head, feeling someone watching her.

"Silverstar," she called. He appeared through the trees nearest to her.

She stood, glad to stretch her legs. She passed him the flowers.

"I am sorry I yelled at you. I know that you care for me. Lunea was a fool not to see what you are, Silverstar." She kissed his hand.

~*~

Elodin walked alone by the river. He had learned of the separation of Legolas and Emer, the two over whose joining he had presided. He was saddened by this news, remembering the way they had looked at each other, and especially the girl, Emer, who obviously held a deep love for the warrior to whom she had been joined. It was rare for the joining to be broken.

He had just attempted to put the thought of them out of his mind when he came upon the girl, Emer, sitting beside the river with the Mage, Silverstar.

"Greetings," he called softly, not wishing to startle them. Silverstar was watching Emer with eyes full of empathy. Elodin sat down beside them.

"Emer. I am saddened to hear that you and Legolas have parted. Words are not enough for such occasions, I fear."

"He loves another," said Emer bluntly.

Elodin was stunned and would not bring her further hurt by asking who it was. She was somehow older looking than when he had spoken at their joining; she had cut off her hair. It was very becoming, and she was no less beautiful for it, but more so. He touched the tattoo on her arm, wondering if it had been there before. "Halfelven," he said. "You are kin to Elrond."

"Distantly."

"Emer. If Vanya and I can be of any help to you, I hope you will call on us. Come and dine with us whenever you may. Times will soon change, for all of us. We will be there as your friends, whenever you need us."

She thanked him with her eyes. Only her own kind would know how deep the hurt went, as deep as the love. His heart went out to her. The Mage seemed a true friend to her. Looking at them, they looked very much as brother and sister, alike in many ways. He left them to talk and walked on.

~*~

Silverstar had gone. Emer found some withered apples on a tree and ate them, and planted some of the seeds where they could draw water from the river.

Children floated past in tiny boats, which they steered with long poles. The boats were shaped like swans, and the children laughed and sang as they were borne down the river. Emer waved to them as they passed her. Soon Luthan would be doing these things, running and playing, singing, sailing a boat down the river.

Emer looked around the quiet glade she had chosen for herself. Insects were busy at their work. Life went on. Once Galadriel and Celeborn had walked here. Emer thought of the ocean, which she had never seen. Maybe one day she would see it with Luthan, a desert of water, never at rest. It was hard to imagine.

She sat by the river, in the afternoon shade, and the quiet loneliness echoed around her. She wondered how she was going to get through every day of her life, all the days that lay ahead, when already she missed him so much. Soon, she would be busy, taking care of Luthan. And the war, the war was coming. Many things would be swept away by it. Maybe it was better this way. There was little left to lose.

~*~

"And so . . ." stated Silvermoon, walking beside Silverstar.

__

'And so, she heals slowly.'

"Wounds never heal completely, Brother."

__

'She is more grounded now.'

"And you plan to try and help heal her."

__

'Yes.'

"I wish . . ."

__

'Yes . . . let us not discuss it any longer.'

Silvermoon bit his lip. "So where is your student now?"

__

'She is at the river. She needs some time to herself now. I only followed her earlier to knock out the idea of doing anything . . . rash. When she feels she wants company, she will find it.'

~*~

Vanya and Elodin were talking quietly in their tent. Elodin had just broken the news about Legolas and Emer. Vanya was deeply shocked by this.

Tolar burst in, chattering. He had gone down to the river with the other Elven children. He carried two dripping fish proudly.

"Put them over there," said Vanya. "And come and eat. And the next time you trek down to the river, tell me first, or I'll skin you."

Tolar looked hurt. "There are enemies about, Tolar. It is not a time to prance off without telling someone where you are going."

"I saw Emer by the river," said Tolar, eating the fruit Vanya had cut for him. "She looked very sad."

"Now is a sad time for her." She looked at his hair. "While you were there you should have jumped in, you are filthy."

"Why is Emer sad, Mother?"

"Because she is apart from her love, Tolar. They can no longer be together."

"Why not?"

Vanya glanced at Elodin.

"Her husband loves another, Tolar," said Elodin, glancing back with a smile in his eyes at the relief on Vanya's face. She was always happy to leave the touchier subjects to him.

"Why?" he asked, his confusion genuine.

"I do not know," answered Vanya.

"What about their child?"

"I suppose all will be well. The child will still have its parents."

"What if Father loved another?"

A simple question at last. "I would kill her."

Elodin laughed.

"So never look at another," she teased. Tolar and Elodin were still laughing, but Vanya was not. It was a difficult thing that Emer and Legolas must face; she did not envy them. She could not imagine raising Tolar alone. All the best of both of them was in their son.

Abruptly the tent flap was raised.

"Come in, Proudbow," said Vanya. "Is there news at last?"

"Aye," said Ayon gravely. "An Eagle has come. Lady Arwen has still not been found. Elrond and Arwen's son, Eldarion, have ridden to Mordor to seek her. The Dwarves are coming; two great hosts were seen. One going north, one bearing here, to Lorien. Lorien of all is strongest, for now. I fear for Gondor, though its army is well trained, it has lost its heart, which is Arwen. Eldarion's betrothed, Trista, was also missing, along with a Halfling from the Shire. Trista was captured by Orcs, and made to bear children for them. A new breed of Orcs, a fell, black spawn, now walks in the daylight. The Eagle says they fight more fiercely than any of their predecessors. From a military standpoint, the Orc tower near Orthanc should be brought down first."

Ayon smiled at the young son of Vanya and Elodin, who was listening as intently as his parents. These people of the Horde were warriors born.

~*~

That evening, Emer crept back to the flets of the Galadrim, and to the tent city of the Golden Horde. She found easily the tent of Vanya, which was the largest and in the center.

Elodin was just coming outside. Emer called softly to him.

"Emer! Come inside!" He lifted the flap, and she ducked in.

"What is that you are carrying?"

"A lute. I thought your son might like to have it." It was folded into her arms now, a small stringed instrument. Tolar sat in a corner.

"Why do you want to give it away?"

"I . . . I do not know. I am tired of carrying it. I have lessened what I carry now. I suppose I am getting ready for when the baby comes. You were kind to me, and . . . Legolas. I heard Tolar singing today, on the boats in the river. I think he will have more joy from this than me." She handed the lute to the boy, who turned it over and over, looking at it.

"I don't know how to play," he said.

"I'll teach you soon," said Emer.

"Will you stay and talk for a while?" asked Vanya.

"No, I must go. I will come back soon, though. Good night."

She fled, rushing away and back into the trees, not wanting to be seen by anyone, and returned to her quiet glade. She curled up under a quiet birch, her cloak around her, and watched the stars.


	66. Sunset

****

Chapter Sixty-six

Sunset.

Legolas wandered blindly, until he noticed a creature coming towards him. It was Ayala's Companion.

__

:And what, pray, are you doing?: A voice, like the sound of bells, resonated into his mind.

"What?" Legolas looked around. "You . . . talk?"

__

:I can talk to anyone I wish to,: said Tinviel, a mock anger weaved into her voice. _:You know, if you keep running away, nothing will be solved.:_

"I was not running away."

__

:Ok. Then you were walking around ready to hit that tree right there for no apparent reason. Elfling, I know when someone is trying to run away, and you are most certainly trying to run away . . . from responsibility. You shan't go to Emer to comfort her, yet you will not go to Ayala either. What kind of lover is that? You have a duty to both of them, and you have to face that duty some time. You, Legolas, are the link between them both. You, Legolas, must bring that link closer together for we all face the Dark Lord and all that is light, tainted or not, must come together. Shall you run away from that duty still?:

The Companion cocked her head to the side, looking at him with her piercing, blue eyes . . .

"I do not run," he replied. "I am only trying to decide what to do next. I would comfort Emer, gladly, but what can I say to her now? And Ayala, I do not know what to say to her either. And, I cannot seem to find her, or Emer, though I am sure wherever Emer is, Silverstar is near."

__

:And you are envious of Emer's friendship with the Mage?:

"Yes," he admitted.

They both watched as an Eagle soared in. "There is news. Tinviel, will you take me to Ayala?"

Tinviel nodded her head.

__

:I will take you, if you behave to her. If not, I'll personally make your life miserable . . . and trust me . . . I can make it worse. Now come on. You shall ride upon my back. Consider yourself lucky. I do not do this often.:

Legolas got upon the Companion's back, smiling a little at the Companion's blunt way of talking. Once he was seated, Tinviel went swiftly. She did not say any more until she was approaching Ayala, who stood up as they came near.

__

:Good luck,: Tinviel said as Legolas jumped off.

"Has something happened?" asked Ayala. She put a hand on Legolas' arm. "What is it, Legolas? I can see there are some things you want to say . . ."

"I . . ." Legolas was lost for words. He turned away for a moment, feeling a fool for having come to her.

"Emer has left me," he finally said, his back still to her. "Please. Do not misunderstand, I did not come here to be comforted, I would not presume to be so . . . heartless. I daresay I have been so, to Emer."

He was glad she could not see the empty grief in his eyes.

"Where is Emer now?" He could tell by her tone she had already known Emer had parted from him.

He shook his head. "If she was in danger, Silverstar would have told me, he is ever near, wherever she is."

"There is a great friendship between them."

"I wonder. If I had not gone to her that night, and torn her life apart as I have done, Silverstar might have meant much more to her. He cares greatly for her."

"And so do you."

"Yes. In such a way I can find no words to explain, Ayala. I have loved you long, for many decades, and your image I carried; when I was most desolate it was the thought of you that drove me on. The moment of the mingling, when Emer and I were joined, we were one, in that moment. My time with her was not long, but it was passionate. I cannot lie or make anything less of it than what it was, I suppose what I am trying to say is that in some way I love her, too. It is not the same love I feel for you, that is undeniable. I . . . I cannot seem to say what I mean to say, perhaps I should say nothing."

He felt her hand on his shoulder and turned to meet her eyes. He embraced her, knowing he had no right.

"I am sorry, Ayala, for all that I have done. I feel a loss that I cannot describe at Emer's leaving. I do not say this to hurt you, but only because I want no more deception, ever."

He waited, to see if she would push him away.

Ayala leaned her head against Legolas' chest, wrapping her arms around him.

"What did you expect? You expect it not to hurt when she leaves you? You've lived a day longer than I, Legolas. That day has obviously not helped you gain much more knowledge," she said, laughing a little. She hesitated. "I do not know what to say, Legolas. You feel pain because you were with her . . . something, I suppose, you thought was wrong. You have feelings for her you thought you should not have. When someone loves, there is no way to describe it or go over it or destroy it. It just happens. There is no reason to feel unhappy about love. Now that she is gone, you feel a loss of that love. It's a natural thing . . ."

Ayala moved away, clasping her hands, and looking down at the ground unable to make eye contact, her face coloring. "You could go back to her, you know. If you love her . . ." she started. Ayala's throat tightened. "Even if you went to Emer, even if you told me to leave, called me names, tried to kill me, until Time remade this land, I would still love you. And . . . I am not making this easier on anyone by saying this." Tears fell down Ayala's cheeks. "It really is your choice what you do, Legolas. I will stand by your choice no matter what, as only a friend to talk to if you wish. If you need time for anything . . . anyone, I could leave Lothlorien for Mirkwood. I just do not know what to do . . ."

Ayala looked up at Legolas for guidance.

"No, Ayala, please do not leave. If there is a way for us to find our way back to each other, we must take that way. I cannot close off what I feel for Emer. And I cannot deny Luthan anything, now that he will soon be here. Emer left me because of my love for you. She saw us embrace.

"She knew, it was always in her eyes, a sort of fear. I will not forget the way she wept, when we found her on the road. It was that which told me, more than anything. I love you Ayala, I always will, nothing can change it. That is what I came here to say, beloved. Long we have known each other, perhaps the silence speaks more than words."

He kissed her forehead gently. "It was Emer who gave me the other half of the circlet. 'Reforge it,' she said."

Tinviel spoke. _:There is news, an eagle has landed.:_

Legolas was loathe to let her out of his arms.

~*~

Ayon watched as Ayala's companion drew near. And there was Legolas Greenleaf. Ayon's face was set.

He beckoned to Tinviel and they dismounted. Legolas spoke some greeting to him.

"Shut up. Speak not to me. I would speak to my sister about matters of the marshalling of Lorien, which do not concern you, oathbreaker . . ."

"Ayon!" cried Ayala. Legolas glared at him. Ayon's eyes were barbs as he glared back. Finally he looked away, taking Ayala's arm. He turned his back on Legolas, a sure sign to the other that he was provoked and held no respect.

"There is news." Ayon explained quickly of the tidings the eagle had brought, and of the decision of Vanya and Elodin.

"We must do something about the creature, Deagol. He cannot remain here in the Golden Wood, he is the eyes and ears of Mordor, and the Dark Lord seeks to know where the Silmaril was hidden. Elrond has left us both in responsibility. We must make some decision regarding the creature."

Ayon could feel the heated gaze of Legolas on his back.

__

Come on, warrior, he thought. _Speak one word to me and I will consider it an invitation._

~*~

Deagol paced back and forth as far as the chains would allow him, and spat on any Elf who came near to him, biting one, who cried shrilly when Deagol sank his fangs into her arm. The blood of Elves was tasty, almost as good as fish, and Deagol began to see them in a new light, a hungry gleam in his eye.

For he hungered, and thirsted, and they would not let him go. He had not seen the Elf-girl, the one Legolas had cast off, and he wanted to find her, and find the shiny stones she had worn, and take them before departing this cruel place of light.

The trees spoke to each other here, conspiring, whispering, and the Elves knew they spoke, but Deagol knew not what they said, only that it was against the will of Mordor.

"They will all burn," he hissed. "And I will run free here, and take all the fish for myself, and a treasure I will gather, all the pretty things made by Elves will be mine, and I will hide them all in a dark place." He felt very clever, planning his revenge.

~*~

After a few moments of heated argument with Ayon, Legolas stalked away in disgust. Ayon had thrown the key to the chains binding Deagol.

"If you think you know what to do with him, warrior, go ahead and try," Ayon had yelled after him.

Ayon had never had dealings with a creature like Deagol before, nor had he been followed for as long as Legolas and Emer had.

Legolas understood the reasons for Ayon's anger, and decided it was best left for now. When he approached the tree where Deagol was bound, he noticed with anger that the creature had gnawed a great hole in the trunk of the tree.

Deagol stopped snapping and started begging when he saw the sack in Legolas' hand.

"It is time for you to go, slippery one."

It took three of them to get him into the bag without being bitten, but it was done. Legolas tied him to a horse and led him from the Golden Wood. It would take most of the day to walk to the place where he would release the creature, and a long ride back afterwards. Dawn had just broken when he crossed the bridge.

Deagol was released far from Lorien.

"Do not forget the mercy of Lorien, Deagol, and make no attempt to follow me this time, or an arrow you will find in your eye."

Legolas jumped on the horse's back, watching Deagol's back as he ran, his head twisting back to snarl at Legolas one last time.

~*~

"What is wrong with you?!!" cried Ayala as Ayon told her what he had said to Legolas.

"What do you mean?" growled Ayon. "I . . ."

"You were not thinking!! I love him, Ayon!! How could you say such things?!"

"He . . . he left you, Aya!" stuttered Ayon in his anger. "He left you for another woman and you still go to him like . . ."

"Stop it! Your words will not change my feelings!" yelled his sister, tears forming in her eyes. "I will not leave him!! NEVER!!"

Ayala sprinted away, following the path Legolas' horse had left. She ignored her brother calling after her. She ran until she reached Legolas, who was returning from his errand. She clung to his arm and sobbed. She could not speak anymore.

"Ayala, why do you weep?" Legolas asked, bending his head to meet her eyes.

"Ayon," she stammered. "He told me what he had said to you, he is hateful."

"He is angry, and with good reason. In his place I might do the same. He wishes to protect you. You should never have required protection from me, but my actions have demanded it." He smoothed her hair, his eyes distant.

In his arms she calmed, and his mind raced. How would he ever hope to repair all that had been damaged? How could he ask her to trust him once again? Time healed many things, but trust, once wounded, was slow to heal, and the scars drew and ached. There was a way to show her, that he would not fail her again.

They returned to Lorien hand in hand, speaking little. Legolas was content in her company, wondering at her thoughts.

Many had gathered in the flets for the evening meal as they did daily now. Legolas asked her to join them, and wait for him, for he would return shortly. She looked puzzled but did as he bid her.

He went to his own flet, and dug out the two halves of the circlet, the memory of Emer's eyes when she had handed the pieces to him flashing brightly. A memory which he must put aside for now.

He called out to Silvermoon, the Mage of Fire, who soon tapped him on the shoulder as if he had been standing there all along. Silvermoon smiled secretively, a coy look in his eye.

"Hold the pieces together," said the Mage solemnly. "As they were meant to be." Legolas nodded dumbly and held them fast.

Silvermoon placed his hands over Legolas' and spoke. "Let what was broken be made whole, and what was marred be purged, by fire." There was a blinding flash that dazzled the vision for a moment, and Legolas felt something jump in his hand, as if he held an insect or tiny animal.

Silvermoon smiled strangely and walked away, and Legolas stared down at the circlet, whole in his palms.

Ayala still waited for him at the base of the tree where he had left her. He stood before her, and held the circlet for her to see.


	67. The Division of the Golden Horde

**Chapter Sixty-seven**

**The Division of the Golden Horde**

Vanya and Elodin sat long in council after Emer had gone, Tolar asleep on his bedroll in the corner, the lute beside him.

A decision was made. The Horde was over a thousand strong. Fifty of their warriors would remain here. A third of their force would go to defend Gondor, a third to Rohan, and the rest to Mordor. The children would be left here, Lindorinand was a safe haven for them. Vanya would ask Emer to watch over Tolar. Vanya and Elodin feared to be separated from their son, and Vanya thought every moment of her daughter, Aidan, in the North. They would not take Tolar into the jaws of the dark land, he was far too young. He had made many friends here, and Emer was kind and would care for him like a son.

They slept a few short hours before the Horde gathered and everyone was informed of the plan.

Elodin went to the river to speak to Emer while others made arrangements for their own children.

Before nightfall they would break camp and depart.

Elodin found Emer on the sunny banks of the river, in the same spot she had been the day before. She was like a wildflower here, well suited to this place. Tolar was sullen at being left behind, but brightened when he saw Emer.

"Emer," said Elodin, and her face grew serious.

"Vanya and I must depart. War is coming. I come to ask if we may leave Tolar in your care until we return." He did not say the word "if", not wishing to frighten his son further.

"I would be honored to care for him in your absence," Emer said. She took Tolar's hand, knowing he was full of fear right now.

"We can stay here, Tolar, by the river, unless you would rather return to the flets." Emer looked to Elodin for advice. Perhaps it was too dangerous to stay here with a child. She did not wish to face Legolas, but a great duty had been given her and she intended to do her best.

"Tolar is a strong swimmer, but there is much mischief he could find here. Perhaps in the company of the others would be best," Elodin advised. He tousled Tolar's dark hair. The boy was so like Emer imagined Luthan would one day be, he reminded her very much of Legolas.

"We can still come to the river," Emer told Tolar, and he looked more hopeful. "We will have lots of fun together." She tried to sound enthusiastic, to lessen his fear of his parents leaving.

She gathered her things and put them into her pack, looking back wistfully at the glade as they made their way back to the flets of the Galadrim.

Emer chose one for herself and Tolar that was on the outskirts. She would have to make beds for them, and she and Tolar set to work together gathering rushes and sewing together cloth for the mattresses.

"Can we go and look for frogs after I say goodbye to my parents?"

"Of course," she answered. He had laid the lute lovingly next to his new bed. They went hand in hand to find Vanya and Elodin and wish them well.

Emer stood back a little way at their emotional farewell to their son. Emer tried to reassure Vanya that she would take only the best care of their son.

"He will help me learn to become a mother," said Emer.

"You are already a mother," Vanya answered. "Tolar can be a real challenge."

"Do not worry. I will watch over him with care. And I can send an Eagle with news."

Emer took Tolar off, seeing their sadness. Perhaps it was easier for them all if Emer and Tolar began their life together quickly. She took him off to look for frogs and dragonflies, to keep his mind busy.


	68. Fevered Dreams

**Chapter Sixty-eight**

**Fevered Dreams**

A great rage came over Intathin at Arwen's salvation, a cold and calculating rage that demanded action. Sending the Nazgul was of no use now. He would not risk another wraith of the stone, yet. Let Arwen lie in Minas Tirith, and be healed, and when her strength returned he would rip it from her utterly, after he had stripped her mind of all, and twisted it to his use. He would see Arwen slay her own son, before the end. He watched as her son made ready to take her home. It was a simple matter to enter her thoughts, and dangle visions of Aragorn amidst the images of fever. Arwen had carried the Silmaril, and hidden it. All who touched it were forever connected to it. Arwen had lived long, and had learned to bury what she wanted hidden in her thoughts. He had not cracked that secret place, yet.

There was another who had also carried the Silmaril who could yet be of use to him. One far easier to manipulate. Emer, mother of the Elven King to be. It was Emer who had found the Silmaril in Mirkwood, Emer who had carried it long, Emer who was young and in love. Emer's connection to the Silmaril was far greater than Arwen's, and Emer could lead him to its location.

It was time to sow the seeds of her betrayal.

He waited with infinite patience, watching as she cared for the child of another. Emer was long in waiting for sleep. When she had fallen and entered the world of dreams, Intathin met her on that blessed plain, as he had done before, in the guise of her beloved Legolas. More fair than ever he was to her eyes, denying the love of another, his arms about her, his hands upon her in erotic dance until she succumbed, her breath quick in ecstasy, and he whispered proclamations of love and need, until she was filled with it and cried out in great pleasure, and he whispered his request, and smiled, knowing she had heard and would deny her lover nothing.

"Lead me to the Silmaril, beloved," he whispered in the voice of Legolas, and she moaned softly her assent as he took her again.

Silverstar watched Emer closely as she slept. There was something wrong; he could feel dark power emitting. He put a hand on Emer's forehead.

"I'll be your anchor in case you get lost, brother," said Silvermoon.

'Thank you,' replied the Mage of Water, and he was plunged into Emer's dream.

At first he thought it was Legolas, but looking closer, he realized it was not. It was the Dark Lord; nothing could hid the aura.

'Emer,' said Silverstar, his voice echoing through the mind. The Dark Lord stood up.

"She will lead me to the Silmaril . . ."

'She does not know where the Silmaril is, fool,' interrupted the Mage. 'You are good at manipulating, but you are awful when reading the mind. Now! Show yourself!'

"Show your true form!!" cried Silverstar outloud, the first words he had spoken for many years. Legolas' form melted away to reveal the Dark Lord. Emer jumped to a stand.

"I cast you out of this mind, with the Inner Power of Water! Begone and never return!!"

What appeared to be a void opened behind the Dark Lord and engulfed him. There was a snap, as if a lock were closed, and the void was gone. Then there was a tug and the area seemed to dissolve . . .

Emer woke up with a start, shaking violently.

"What happened? Is he . . ."

"He's gone now," said Silverstar. He put a hand on her shoulder. "Do not worry."

At first Emer recoiled from Silverstar's touch, still somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. She began to realize fully what had just happened.

"I thought . . ." she shook her head. "Thank you, both of you," was all she could manage to get out. She felt a sort of anger, for a moment, as if she had been taken from Legolas. It hadn't been Legolas at all.

Silverstar's arms went around her, to stop her shaking, and she twisted hers around his neck.

She felt utterly violated, and sick.

Silvermoon got up quickly, realizing that he was not wanted at the moment. He smiled as he left.

Silverstar was suprised when Emer returned his embrace.

"I know what you thought," said Silverstar softly, his voice odd to hear from one who had spoken through the mind. "That is the way of the Dark, Emer. They twist people for their own intentions, not caring what will happen, who they will break. That is why the Mages are for the Light, and why Kazushe has such a hard time."

What happened next was too fast for Silverstar to stop himself. He lifted Emer's face to his, and kissed her lightly. When he realized what he had done, he suddenly broke the embrace and stood up, his face hidden from her.

"I am sorry," he said. "I should not have done that . . . the pain is still too close . . . for both of us . . ."

"I brought it all on myself, by seeking the Dark to help me, Silverstar," she answered softly, rising. She caught his arm, forcing him to look at her.

"It was you who showed me that, it was you who made me see reason and realize all the aftereffects of my actions. What I did, I did for love. That does not make it right, I know that now, I told you the price would be very great indeed, and it has been. I allowed him to work through me once, and now I am only fodder to him, fuel. No more, I will not allow it, enough has been done."

She shook her head. "I am not sorry, for the kiss you gave me, Silverstar, nor I am sorry that you showed me the path of destruction I was on. I loved Legolas, I will always love him. I thought I had room only for him in my heart, Luthan has showed me I was wrong, and you . . ." She ran her fingers down his face tenderly. "Do not think I am not aware of what you truly give me, Silverstar . . ." Her voice faded from a whisper, and she returned his kiss, her arms around his neck.

A rush of emotions flooded her, emotions different than she had known before. It was not desire, or need, but something far greater, a connection to someone else on a plane of existence hitherto unseen. Sadness fell away, anger was dampened, pain was shared, and let go of, and something unshakeable was begun. She wanted his comfort, and happiness, and for him to know the untainted love she held for him. So this small, private journey they took together, taking nothing from each other, but giving, while Vanya's son snored softly nearby.


	69. Minas Tirith Healing

**Chapter Sixty-nine**

**Minas Tirith. Healing.**

Sil looked at the pain and mortal fear on Eldarion's face and put aside her true wishes for the fate of her cousin's daughter. "I will go with you. Come we haven't much time." Arwen's face was sinking in and color was draining from it.

Graybough came forward and offered to carry Arwen back to Minas Tirith, and swiftly they departed, the horses keeping time with his great strides.

The guards on the walls shouted as they drew near, and gathered around Elrond, Eldarion and Silverberry in great teeming throngs, crying out in disbelief when they saw their Queen, some gaping at their first look at an Ent. Graybough was gentle with Arwen. Healers rushed out, carrying a stretcher, and bore Arwen off to the halls of healing. Graybough stood with the other guards who manned the walls outside, fearing the worst for the Lady Arwen, who was well loved by so many.

Mordel began to tire of Barad-dur so she went out to Beleg. "Come, Minas Tirith has had no excitement for a time. We will cure them of that."

She rode to Minas Morgul and through there to Minas Tirith. She gained passage into the city by charming the stupid guards who were upset about their queen. Quietly she pulled out Durnar and lit fire to the first house she came to and exited through the gates. She watched outside the city as the fire spread, ruining parts of the city, while most of the population was watching Arwen. She laughed and spurred Beleg back to Barad-dur, content for now.

Sil followed the Ent to Minas Tirith and before they got to the Healing House was ready to draw out Aglar to get through the masses. She almost regretted coming here. She stood outside the Healing House with Eldarion and Elrond, trying to conceal the fact she had little hope for Arwen when she remembered something she had learned long ago.

She ran to Glam and in her saddlebags found some dried _Aranion_. She brought it to Eldarion. "Here you may try this. It isn't the Black Breath, but it is black poison. Go, you are king, it may help." She pushed him towards the door of the Healing House.

"Thank you," said Eldarion to Silverberry, embracing her. People parted to let him pass. Now he saw why he had been asked to leave, he was met with a sight that filled him with dread.

The healers were gathered around his mother's bed, physically restraining her, for she writhed and cried out in the grips of the poison, and they held her head to one side to keep her from reopening the head wound they had tried so hard to treat.

His mother's face was sunken, her eyes rolling back in her head, and they tried to comfort her.

Elrond held her hand.

"I bring Athelas, given to me by Silverberry. It is obvious there is no hope, she is dying, please, can we try it."

The healers took it from him carefully, and held Arwen, placing it on her tongue, and in her hands, and sprinkling it all around her. They waited, praying, holding their breath.

As Sil looked into the Healing House, she cursed under her breath. When Eldarion came out she glared at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Did the Dunadan teach you nothing?

_"Come athelas! Come athelas!_

_Life to the dying!_

_In the KING'S hand lying!_

"Don't you understand? There is so much against us to begin with but then you did not give it to her yourself. Those healers are not the king, you are!" Sil was seething, and turned away so he didn't see the tears forming in her eyes for Arwen, who she felt was lost.

She barely heard the men of Minas Tirith yelling, "Fire! Fire!"

"I am not the King, Silverberry, but only his son. There is a large difference between the two." He turned away from her, hearing the calls.

Brigades were already formed. The fire was put out but not before a good portion of the Hill of Guard and several of the oldest and finest homes were destroyed. Eldarion joined the brigades until the fires were completely over, before returning to the Houses of Healing.

Silverberry was glaring coldly at him. "I should not have asked you to come. I am sorry. You are free to return to the Fellowship, if you wish." Whatever semblance of friendship had begun between them seemed to have died. And it appeared his mother would be the second casualty of this war.

Trista had been first.

Eldarion turned from Silverberry and returned to his vigil at his mother's side. Father was the only one who could help her now, and he was long dead. What to do next, he did not know.

Sil softened and walked to Arwen's side and put her hand on Eldarion's shoulder. "I am sorry, I should not have been so harsh. You know her better than I. No, I'll not leave you. These are troubled times and being alone with your grief will make it worse." She managed a wan smile, "Trust me, I learned the hard way." She softly began to sing in a clear, beautiful voice of things long past and soon the song turned to one the Dunadan had sung of Galadriel long before. She wished Galadriel was here, she had a child-like thought that if her Lady was here she could heal the wounds of Arda. She knew that couldn't happen but she kept hope that something would.

Eldarion listened as they all did to the singing of Silverberry. Some of the athelas lay still on the crumpled sheets around his mother's head. He laid his hand over it, and it clung to his palm, glittering there like a living entity.

Perhaps Silverberry had seen something in him that he had never seen himself, though he had looked long. He drew his hand near to his mother's face, and whispered the words Silverberry had spoke so harshly to him in the corridor, letting the image of his father fill his mind, his father who had brought temperance and peace to this land, and ruled with kindness, and taken great joy in all the accomplishments of his people be they great or small.

He looked at his open hand. The athelas shimmering there, vanishing.

He bathed his mother's forehead with cool water, still keeping the image of his father foremost in his thoughts.

It may have been only his hope, his desperate pleading hope, but it seemed to him some color was coming into his mother's face. It was very slight. He was afraid to look away to one of the others to see if they saw it, too, afraid they would see no change in her. He stared, transfixed.

Arwen roasted over a slow flame, assailed by horrors with no name, reliving grief long since past, and maddened by woeful music that repeated, over and over, swelling and dying and rebounding.

She was taunted by a melodic voice, and felt the cold hand of the one who lusted for the Silmaril.

It was harder every time, to break free from the endless questions, and keep revealed the place where the Silmaril now lay in murky depths unfathomed.

Then came a cool breeze, a freshness, like the breath of Ulmo over Ekkaia, and she saw the trees of light, Telperion, and Laurelin. A different song came to her now, wiping clean the old, and before her stood Aragorn Elessar, and Eldarion her son, Their hands were outstretched to her. Eldarion was calling to her, his eyes full of yearning.

Behind her she saw the Halls of Mandos, alit, and a great desire came into to her to follow the light, but she did not. She came instead to her son's arms, and his embrace, and smiled, until she was carried off by sleep and it's healing blessings and knew no more, for a time.

"The fever has broken," Elrond announced softly, and a cheer went up. All through the long night they stayed by Arwen's side. The color began to come back into her face, and she looked far less harrowed, though there was much healing yet to come.

He stroked his daughter's dark hair, and looked up with gratitude at Eldarion, and Silverberry. A few had been brought in with injuries from the fire, though none of them serious. The Dark hand had reached here, unstayed, into the walls of this city, one of the most fiercely guarded of places in all Arda.

Elrond feared for Lorien. He remembered the march there now, and the words Arwen had called to the multitudes who had gathered to watch them pass.

"All that is good will prevail."

He stroked her dark hair. _And so you have, my daughter_, he thought. The Evenstar would not set on this realm yet.

Sil smiled as she watched Arwen's face regain it's color. The Undomiel would not pass. She whispered to Eldarion, "See . . ."

She left the Healing House and called for Glam. When he did not come she bellowed, "Glamdring," and he came sheepishly walking to her. She mounted up. "Let us go." She walked him out of the city and galloped around letting the worries she had for Arwen pass. After a time she lead Glam back into the city and went back to the Healing House.

Eldarion left his sister, Eithne, at his mother's side for a moment, seeking Silverberry. He found her nearby, and drew her aside, into a quiet anteroom. The streets were crowded, and the long work of rebuilding had begun. Eldarion would join the crews as soon as his mother woke, and he had spoken to her.

"Silverberry. I do not know how I can ever thank you. If there is any gift I can give that is within my power, I will grant it gladly. You will be a friend to this house forever. If not for you, she would have died." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, kneeling before her.

"If there is any way I can repay your foresight and kindness, I will do so joyfully."

Sil watched quietly. "Stand, I'll not have a king's son kneeling before me." She laughed, for the first time in a long while, as he got to his feet. "Since you cannot bring back the dead there is nothing I desire unless it is for you and your family to live through these times so we may meet again sometime."

Sil mounted Glam and looked over her shoulder at Eldarion, "I will be with the company if ever you should need me." She threw him the flower in her hair. "Keep this, it is more powerful than you think."

She and Glam galloped into the distance.


	70. Field of Cormallen

**

Chapter Seventy

**

**

Field of Cormallen

**

By nightfall they had reached the field of Cormallen in Ithilien, and camped. Everyone was still reeling after seeing Arwen's condition. Marigold had wept and not spoken again after Elrond, Eldarion, Silverberry and Graybough had taken her away.

Added to their distress was the nearness of Mordor, which they would soon enter. They were no closer to determining where the White Gem of Galadriel was hidden. Hearts were downcast, and Draco could think of nothing to cheer them. They watched the horizon as if some magical answer would appear.

"Kazushe, if you can hear me, I need your help," Draco thought, over and over, like a mantra.

Marigold finally spoke after everyone else was asleep. She lay close to Draco, wanting the safety of his arms around her.

"Do you think Arwen will live?"

"I don't know, Mari," Draco said after a time. His voice sounded very heavy in the darkness.

"All of those people . . . they seemed only tales to me before, and now I have seen and met some of them. Arwen is very beautiful, and it seems to the me the kind of beauty that comes from goodness. I've never seen injuries like that. I feel ashamed now, of the sheltered life I've led in the Shire, and I wonder what has happened there, and I feel less courageous now that we are drawing so near to Mordor. If the Dark Lord could someone as lovely as Arwen, he will destroy anything."

Draco sighed. "I agree, it doesn't make a whole of sense, Mari. I think when someone good dies, we are all diminished, and something goes out of this world, and never returns. I would feel that way if you died, so let's keep you alive, burglar. I know you're afraid, we all are. Fear is the Dark Lord's greatest ally. We have to fight it, take it away from him. You're scared, because your heart is pure. We're all in this together, Mari, every one of us."

"I love you, Draco. When this is over, can we go back to the Shire, and never leave it?"

"I don't see why not. Your uncle returned. So will we."

She hugged him and settled down with her head on his chest, seemingly asleep. Draco remained awake, his thoughts once again focused on trying to contact Kazushe.

"And why do you need my help?" asked Kazushe. "You have three Mages . . ."

Draco looked around. Ierik, John, and Lunea were looking at him. John smiled.

"Well, boss? What's up?"

Draco gasped. "He heard me." It was several minutes before he could speak again to answer John.

"Before we get any closer to Mordor, I need to ask you all if you can tell us where the White Gem if hidden."

"White Gem?" asked John. "You mean part of the Anachron?"

John looked at Ierik, who in turn was looking at Lunea. Lunea shrugged, but was smiling. She did not say anything.

"Yes," Marigold put in. "It's the bit I'm meant to be stealing. And here we are nearly to Mordor, and I've no idea where in all that awful place I'm meant to look for it, when Mister Baggins got hold of that ring, it sort of fell into his hands like, but me, I've got to know where to look. I'm not all that smart, and I'm certainly not wise, and I'd really feel much better if I knew where it was."

Marigold's mouth clamped shut.

Sil stood over Mari before speaking. "Once you are safely in Mordor, and you may not stay safe after that, the White Gem will be the only good thing so it will be easy enough to sense."

When she first spoke the Hobbit jumped.

"Yes, I came back, since none of you except Syntoc have any experience with Mordor, I figured you might need a guide. And yes, Arwen will live." Sil smiled and sat down near them.

Marigold hugged Silverberry. "I'm so glad you're back!" she giggled. She began cooking breakfast, feeling a sort of new hope after what Sil had told her. This might be their last big meal, supplies had dwindled and they had saved a good store of Elven waybread for the final leg of their journey.

Draco was sitting beneath a tree, writing in the big leather-bound book as he did every day, recording the events of these times. He had confided in her that he wanted to leave behind a record for future generations, so they would know all that had happened, and how they had tried to fight for peace. Mari felt a sudden sadness, as if she were looking at Draco for the last time.

She wanted to marry him one day, and now as Mordor beckoned, it seemed a small hope, impossible that they would ever make it out alive and unchanged.

She watched him bent over the book and her heart was filled with love for him, and a great sadness at what might never be.

She went back to her cooking, wistfully hoping they would all share many more meals together.

Sil hugged Mari. "Yes, it's nice to be back. But don't worry about marrying him. if you love each other it will follow and Mordor can't stop that. If you are concerned about death . . . don't be." Her eyes gained a faraway look. "It can be the sweetest release of all." She came back to normal. "And besides, I will be with you and I won't let you die."

She smiled and went over to Draco and watched as he wrote in the book. "I have a feeling that will be useful one day," she said softly and turned to check on Glam. She was gone before Draco could even look up from his writing.

Draco closed the book after the ink had dried, deep in thought. The beauty of the countryside of Ithilien had affected them all, sharpening their resolve to win back the White Gem of Galadriel.

As beautiful as this land was, great ugliness awaited them all.

He thought about the testing of the Mages, Kazushe in particular. Lunea had said he was the one never reborn. His task was always the same, equally hard in any era. Kazushe was the ultimate historian. Draco looked down at the book in his hands. He was trying, in his own way, to be the historian of these times. There would be many volumes of this book, from all the Fellowships, and all the races would have a story to tell, and he would write them all down, each and every one, if he lived.

He looked over at Marigold, chattering with Silverberry, whom Draco knew she greatly admired and trusted. He anguished over the danger he was taking Marigold straight into. He suddenly remembered something Faramir had once said to him:

"The follies of youth are the regrets of maturity." The meaning was now alarmingly clear.

He noticed Marigold looking at him now, with a sadness and fear in her eyes. He crooked a forefinger at her, and she came to him. He sat her in his lap, his arms around her, winding one of her long curls around his finger. She fit perfectly in his arms.

"I love you," he told her, trying to assuage her fear, and his own.

Grool had decided to stay with the Fellowship. He had taken the palantir from Grool-dur before he left. He frequently snuck into the woods to look into it.

As Sil checked Glam he was nervous and agitated. "Orcs," Sil muttered and looked around. Between trees she could see a woodsman gazing into an orb, the palantir. Her feeling got stronger as she walked into the clearing. "Hail, and what brings you here?" she asked. The 'woodsman' jumped when she spoke and as she raised her hand with Nenya he shielded his eyes.

"I am a simple woodsman named Artos," he replied.

Sil nodded. "Oh, I am sorry to disturb you."

She walked back to the others. "Beware," she said, "of a woodsman nearby, he says his name is Artos, but he is really an Orc or has much Orc blood." She laid her hand on Mari's shoulder. "It is alright. Glam and I won't let it near you while it's alive."

"Nor will I," added Draco. Watches were quickly set up. Whoever this woodsman was, he retreated.

An Eagle swept down. "An army draws near, from Eriador and Minas Tirith. Soon our forces will be greatly strengthened."

Draco smiled. The Men of Ithilien were also nearby. He paced back and forth on the watch, thinking of all he had just written, and of Kazushe. Tomorrow they would tackle Cirith Ungol.

He glanced at Mari huddled in the darkness, and knew by her posture she wasn't asleep, either. It was going to be a long night.

"Your ranks are already strengthened, for I return." Syntoc approached with a much wider smile on his face than when we left. "I guess I arrived just in time as well. It seems that a battle is not far off. Draco, I imagine that I must finish preparing your training if you wish to use it in battle. What do you say?"


	71. Arrival at Minas Tirith and Awakening

**

Chapter Seventy-one

**

**

Arrival at Minas Tirith. Awakening.

**

Dawn turned into morning as they rode, nearly a thousand strong, before the great city of Minas Tirith. They stopped to admire the view of it from leagues off. The land was fertile and the city itself a sight once beheld would never be forgotten: terraced on seven levels with the most efficient guard system Vanya had yet seen. She noticed as they drew closer evidence of fire, and the scent of smoke still acrid in the air, though the wind bore it away.

As expected they were met with a military greeting and a threat beforehand. Soldiers in fine armament and plumed helmets moved quickly into defensive positions. Vanya held up an open hand in front of her, a symbol of peace that was recognized throughout the realm.

"We are the warriors of the Golden Horde, come from Eriador, and late of Lindorinand. We bring news, and strong arms to bear swords, and the skill to wield them. Let us speak to your King."

"Hail," Eldarion called to them. "And welcome. Word of your coming has come before you, the Eagle told us of your approach. The gates are opening, be welcome to this city."

As soon as the battalion had entered Eldarion ordered the gates closed. He took a few seconds to fully appreciate the sight of this woman, she was like nothing he had ever seen before. More than a few people were staring openly at her.

Eldarion gave a few orders and Men took their horses to be stabled and fed. The greater bulk of this strange army followed the leaders of the Guard. Vanya and her husband, who she introduced as Elodin, walked beside Eldarion. He explained to them quickly what had befallen his mother, and of the Fellowship now about to enter Mordor, and of the death of Trista and the manner of her dying.

"I will introduce you to my mother as soon as she is well enough to receive visitors," Eldarion told them gravely. "For now, I invite all of you to dine in our great hall at your leisure."

Elodin and Vanya were escorted to a hall, and ate with the others, waiting for Eldarion to return.

He had gone to check on his mother, and had the sad duty of informing his fiance's family of her fate.

Eldarion returned to the Houses of Healing after he had broken the news to Trista's parents. He did not tell them that she had been made to bear an Orc child, instead he told them she had died fighting. He left out, too, how close he had come to saving her, he was deeply ashamed at the way he had let her down, and burned with anger that only grew at all that had been done to her. Trista's mother's tears only heightened his resolve for revenge.

He gazed down at his mother, who slept soundly now, and informed the healers of the new arrivals, asking them to call him immediately if there was any change in Arwen's condition.

He found Elodin and Vanya in deep discussion. When they told him their plan, he smiled for the first time in a very long time. He still held the flower Silverberry had given him, and wished she was still here.

Arwen's eyes opened slowly. Things and people came lazily into focus. She breathed, and the act of doing so brought no pain now.

Familiarity began to color the surroundings, and she smiled. It was in this place she had birthed all of her children. And there was Karrah, one of the healers. She tried to sit up, and shaky as she was, she managed it.

Eldarion rushed to her side out of nowhere. She threw her arms around him and wept tears of joy, holding his head against her. She felt his shoulders shake and knew that he wept too, and both joy and sorrow emanated from him. She could not seem to find her voice to speak, and felt far beyond words, so she held her son close to her, and told him in ways that need no words how thankful she was for the salvation he had wrought.

She felt the nearness of the healers, and the touch of others on her shoulder, the goodwill and closeness of the people she had loved so long, and mingled with her tears of joy was shame at the way she had nearly cast aside life, and the shadow of Mordor which dwelt still around her heart, for that wound would take much longer to heal.

But it would heal.

"Mother," whispered Eldarion. "I thought I would never hear your voice again."

Arwen smiled weakly. "If not for you, you would not have. I heard you calling to me, your father was next to you."

"Yes. It was a miracle." He thought of Silverberry, and the flower she had given him, which he had tucked away in the inner pocket of his cloak.

"Who was it I heard singing?" Arwen asked.

"Silverberry, an Elf of Lothlorien. It was she who gave me the Athelas that saved you. It is her doing that you live, not mine. Hers, and an eagle called Geharion, who brought you out of Mordor. You were carried back here by an Ent, called Graybough."

"Well, I have had quite a journey, haven't I?"

"If it hadn't been for Silverberry . . ." Eldarion couldn't say it.

"You are your father's son, Eldarion. You have not embraced your true strengths yet, but you will. The time is coming when all of us shall know what really drives us, and what we are truly made of. Something has happened, Eldarion, you must tell me what it is."

Eldarion's face grew hard. "Trista . . . she is dead. There is an Orc stronghold, near Mordor, and we attacked a small band of them. I had her in my arms, Mother, and lost her. She was pregnant, made to bear one of their spawn."

"And you felt her death."

"Yes. I know she killed herself. I failed her completely, she had no hope, to take her own life, she must have waited for me to return . . . I can't stand the knowing, Mother, the knowing that she despaired, when I could not reach her."

"Eldarion . . ."

"Speak no words of comfort to me, Mother, not until I have avenged her. I hate to leave when you are so newly awake, but I must go. An army has arrived, from Eriador, and together with some of our own I am going to avenge Trista. Elrond is here, I will return as soon as I may."

Arwen watched him go, silent.

Elrond watched Eldarion go from the heights, silently wishing him well. A young woman timidly came near.

"Lord Elrond, Lady Evenstar is awake, and asking for you."

Those were the sweetest words he had ever heard.

He thanked the girl with a bright smile, and she lost some of her fear.

Arwen was sitting up when he strode in, her gray eyes bright and piercing, full of life. He sat on the bed beside her joyfully.

"Undomiel. I knew you would come back to me. I thought once, you may be bound for the Halls of Mandos, until I saw the determination of Eldarion."

"Long I courted the darkness, Father. No more. In Mordor, came an epiphany, I shall seek death no longer, still I will fight, if need arises."

He exhaled slowly.

"Arwen. Never shall you know how I grieved for thee, when you took the hand of Aragorn, for I knew that one day you would depart, forever. Seek death no more, for the light you bring is more needed than ever."

Arwen brought his hand to her cheek. "I seek only the destruction of Mordor now. Come, let us speak of other things. Will you take me to the Place of the Fountain, that we may gaze upon the White Tree together?"

Elrond was uncertain. "You should remain here, it is too soon."

"I am restless," she answered.

"You ever were," he smiled. She took his arm and they ascended, and sat by the fountain. Elrond felt the spirit of the tree; old it was, and venerable, the essence of peace.

"I saw the trees of light, Father, Telperion and Laurelin, and the lit halls, beckoning."

"Very close you came to them."

"Will you stay, Father, for a while?"

"Until you are mended, and strong. And then I must return to Lorien. I am needed there. Defenses there are strong, you would be proud of what has been accomplished there. And forces here are now stronger too, because of the Golden Horde."

Arwen nodded, the look of contentment on her face strong as she gazed at the tree Aragorn had brought here. It was rare, the love they had shared. Arwen had sacrificed for it. But this land had grown strong, partly because of it. And like that time, this too would be a time when great works would be done, for good or evil.

They spoke little after that, watching the play of the water and the changing of the light on the limbs of the tree. Elrond's heart was full of love for his beautiful, headstrong daughter.

"Arwen? What troubles you?" She felt the touch of her father, attempting to draw her out.

"The sword. The Sword of Elendil. Lost, in Mordor, I cannot free it from my thoughts. It came to my call, to my need, Father, there in that dank cell. I cannot leave it to his hands, it is too powerful. I squandered Eldarion's birthright, I should have fought harder."

"You nearly died, is that not enough?"

Arwen's eyes moved to the White Tree again. It was lovely, and drew the all of all who were near to it, exquisite in it's symmetry, and a part of the place, like Aragorn himself had been.

She had learned to crawl in Mordor. Maybe it was time to learn to fly. She must find a way to get the sword back, Gondor was not whole without it.

Eldarion flitted through her thoughts, worry for him eroding the quiet sweetness of this time with her father. Unrest filled her.

Eithne her daughter joined them, sitting quietly beside her.

"I am tired," said Arwen heavily. "Take me back to the Houses of Healing, please, I am so weary."

A headache was blooming, coursing through her skull. Healing came slowly, and she was in a hurry.

She kissed them both and lay back on the bed alone, her mind racing, looking for a way to retrieve the sword.

Arwen slept deeply. A heavy sigh issued from Elrond. Once his daughter had set her heart, there was no turning her. And her heart seemed very set on getting the sword back. She had promised to come to him before setting out next time. He would make sure she was well protected.

There would be no more incidents like the one that had just occurred.

For now, she would heal. Elrond left Minas Tirith quietly, with no fanfare, an honor guard around him as he made the trip back to Lorien.


	72. The Dragon\'s Den

**

Chapter Seventy-two

**

**

The Dragon's Den

**

They disembarked, and Aidan stood near the great head of Orm, Firelord. His head, the color of iron, stained as with red rust at nostril and eye socket and jowl, hung facing her, and the eyes of Orm were like oil coiling upon water.

He looked as though carved of stone, folded wings like sails, talons sunk into the earth, as if he had been crouching there for centuries. There was great majesty and honor in him, and certain death.

"Orm. I called to you in great need, for all our realms are in peril, even thine. We carry with us a gemstone, sought by the Lord of Mordor. There are none better at hoarding, nor at hiding, than the great Wyrms of the North. Do this for me, and our debt will be cancelled."

"Or do it not, and kill you anyhow, and the stone be mine."

"No ordinary stone, or I would not have called you, and you would not have brought us hither in such haste. One third of the Anachron, it is."

Orm's eyes whirled. "It shall be done. However, the hiding place, and the manner of the hiding, are left to me. If you are caught and tortured, you will say nothing that will lead any to it. It will not be hidden here, or anywhere in Arda that can be reached by Man or Elf, or even Wizard, but only by Dragon."

Aidan considered it only for a moment.

"Agreed."

"Let me see this treasure," rumbled Orm. Edric drew it out, it's many facets catching the light, until the den of Orm was bathed in every hue of the rainbow.

"One of old Smaug's treasures. He knew not what he lay upon-or perhaps he did."

Aidan laid it upon the ground, and the Dragon took it into his talons, which closed around it. The world returned to normal, the fantastic play of light and color now over.

"Remain here. There is game nearby, if you hunger, and water. I shall return by sunset of tomorrow eve."

The Wanderer was not so much occupied with the fact that he was in the presence of a Dragon, but more with the fact that this Dragon was not completely evil. This Dragon was one of the few who had escaped the dark legacy of their creator and former Master. The Wanderer took comfort knowing that he was not the only one who escaped His shadow, and that there were others who had managed to do some good after Master's downfall.

Before Orm left, there was one question the Wanderer had to ask the great Wyrm. "Orm," he said, "how is it that you escaped Master's shadow? Since I departed I have fought against His legacy to redeem myself. How can you rest in peace knowing what happened so long ago?"

"The answer is so simple that I am surprised you have had to ask me BlackShadow," said the Wyrm, "Put the past away and move on with your life. There is little hope of redemption for either of us, though you are closer to redemption than any others. Continue your fight and history may yet forgive you."

The Dragon departed and the Wanderer now had a greater sense of clarity on what his future might hold. "And so I continue . . . I will fight, and I will destroy the Enemy . . . The time of the final battle draws near . . ."

Edric's countenance was grim as he beheld the Wanderer, hearing the title Orm had given him. Black Shadow . . .

If the Wanderer had wished to betray them to Mordor he could have done so many times over by now. This was the final struggle for Arda, and old wounds must be forgotten, those with bitterness in their hearts were already coming together against the enemy. If they succeeded, this would be the age of cooperation, and an era of peace like the beginnings would come to all the lands, a peace that stretched to all corners of the Realm.

Edric's hand went to the Wanderer's shoulder as a show of trust. The Wizard turned to the Dwarves.

"Touch not his hoard," he warned, as Bain and Larz were already moving toward the back of the den, where tunnels lay stuffed with treasures.

Larz grumbled, but complied, remembering the jaws of the Dragon.

"Look there," he exclaimed angrily to Bain. Heaped among the hoard of Orm were many helms and lances and silver cups of Erebor, Dwarven works.

"And we have trusted the thief with our own treasure," he snarled, thinking of the Dragon making off with the Arkenstone. His own forebear, Thorin, had fought to hold possession of the great stone. It had brought him nothing but grief.

History had a way of repeating itself.


	73. Kindred

1**Chapter Seventy-three**

**Kindred**

Intathin reached next into the thoughts of the Wanderer.

"Brother, once we fought side by side for the master. Deny not your inheritance, hearken to the words of your own kindred. Let the jewel lie in the treasury of your own family, for those around you will betray you. There is no redemption, only power. History is written by the victors. Honor or dominion. Bring the Arkenstone home . . ."

Intathin had the audacity to enter the thoughts of the Wanderer in a moment of weakness. The Wanderer decided it might be amusing to play with Intathin. Make Intathin think his message was well received. The Wanderer had once toyed with the idea of reverting to his old ways, for the taint of that time never left him.

When Intathin instructed the Wanderer to betray his companions and bring the Arkenstone to Mordor, the Wanderer decided to surprise the Dark Lord . . . It was not wise to enter the Wanderer's mind without permission.

Everything became dark, and on the plane of the mind the Wanderer came face to face with Intathin. "Bring the Arkenstone 'home'?" he asked. "I have no home! The only home I ever had became my prison. Eighty years I spent in the deepest pits of the Iron Hell. Eighty years I was tormented at the hands of my Master and my kindred. That is why I fight not only for redemption, but for revenge as well . . . I will never rest until every trace of Melkor's legacy is erased from Arda, which means I will destroy you, I will destroy your fortress, and I will destroy your minions. Your soul will be cast from Arda, just like the souls of Sauron; your master, and Melkor; my former master."

Intathin was becoming consumed by his rage, and he tried to break the connection between their two minds.

"One more thing before you leave," said the Wanderer. "As you may know, the mind is capable of being the most powerful part of a person. It is also possible for a link between two minds to work both ways . . . So, if I were you, I would exercise more caution when you enter my mind." The Wanderer began placing images in Intathin's mind, as Intathin had done with many others. Intathin saw Barad-dur burning and falling, his legions of Orcs utterly destroyed, his Nazgul writhing in agony, the Balrog slain, and lastly, Intathin's precious servant Mordel hanging from the gallows, cursing the day she decided to go into his service. But through all of these images, Intathin could hear the laughter of the Wanderer. "How do you like it when you are on the receiving end of the mind-games, Intathin?"

Intathin screamed in rage as the connection between himself and the Wanderer was finally broken, and the Wanderer returned to reality. "Your time will come, Intathin . . ."

Aidan went cautiously to the Wanderer's side. He was bent, his eyes wild.

"Are you alright?" she asked gently. He looked as one in a trance. She felt guarded, waiting for his answer.

"I am fine, thank you," said the Wanderer. "The Dark Lord tests me. He is becoming more anxious to reunite the Anachron . . . I only hope the Dragon hides the Arkenstone well . . ."

He decided to leave out the fact that the Dark Lord had asked him to bring the Arkenstone to Mordor. There was no use in making his companions worry about possible treachery.

He took out a small flask of water and had a drink as he sat down, waiting for the Dragon to return . . .

"Orm will not fail us," Aidan tried to reassure the Wanderer.

"Warhammer! Oakenshield! I go hunting. Stay your hands, touch not the hoard of Orm! These Dwarves are worse than Dragons when it comes to all that glitters," Aidan quipped to the Wanderer, quietly so the Dwarves would not hear.

The wind was bracing once she stepped outside the warm den of Orm. Telek hid still in the hood of her cloak, where she had, quivering, since the flight of the Dragon.

"Come out, little one," coaxed Aidan, and the red fox appeared, head first, sniffing the air.

"Let us hunt," said Aidan. She climbed a ways, moving in silence. Telek ran before her.

She returned later with several fat game hens, and they were spitted and roasted.

"Maybe a good meal with put the heart back into us," said Aidan.

When his anger cooled, Intathin laughed. "You will rue the day you turned on Mordor, fool," he spat. Of all his foes, the Wanderer was greatest.

In the end, Intathin would know the Wanderer's true identity, and Intathin's would be known as well. "Sorry they will be, that more heed was not paid, and fealty not given sooner," he cackled. "The Balrog shall soon devour that one, utterly, after much torment. And when the land has been wiped clean, and the Elven scourge removed, and Men laid waste, the Nazgul will fly freely over the lands, and the Great Spiders of Mordor will dwell in Lorien, there to spin the darkness and drive out the light forever, and when the stones are reunited, new armies I will bring, and slaves, to build my cities, and the Elven King will be the last of his kind, and mine to control, and those that remain alive for my pleasure will cower at my might, before they too are killed, even Valinor the Fair will not stand, and Melkor will have his vengeance at last, strongest of all the Valar, he will stand in the last while the others fall . . ."


	74. Attack on Grooldur

**Chapter Seventy-four**

**Attack on Grool-dur**

Vanya stood before the entire Horde, which had already departed the city and gathered on the plain.

A force of three hundred from the Horde and one hundred from the Guard made ready to depart for Rohan. Another squad of three hundred would remain here on the walls.

Vanya called out to the squad departing for Rohan. "May the stars guide you. We will show the forces of darkness how the Horde fights"

The answered her with shrill call and cries, the battle calls they understood best, which were their own language. Swords flashed as they rode off in the night like thunder.

The remaining three hundred and twelve warriors, along with Eldarion, were headed to Mordor. With a sidetrip along the way. Vanya mounted when Eldarion's force flew from the gates of Minas Tirith. In the morning they would all taste battle. Vanya felt her blood heating at what was to come.

Before dawn the army drew near to their target. A mist rose in tatters on the wind, helping to give them cover. Vanya had gained as much information as she could; these were a new breed of Orcs, with sharper senses and no fear of daylight, another abomination of the Lord of Mordor.

At the vanguard three horses pulled a large wheeled cart. Vanya gritted her teeth. If anything it was the noise of its wheels which would give them away before they got close enough.

There was a Halfling inside, and probably other prisoners as well. It couldn't be helped.

At last they were close enough, and the expected assault did not come. When a warning cry was heard from the tower, Vanya gave the signal. She lit the mortar and the catapult was drawn back.

The army moved into position, surrounded the tower. They had already combed the entire area beforehand, no Orcs were out for early morning training. There was no fear of sneak attack. The Horde would hem them in.

"Again!" cried Vanya, and another round was fired into the tower. The structure trembled, already on fire from within.

One more round of flaming mortar was launched into Grool-dur, and the Orcs spewed forth. Black, ugly and strong, they fought like demons, and Vanya swung and stabbed until her muscles ached and the sweat ran down her back, her sword whistling through the air.

For a split second she watched Eldarion, who fought like a demon. The son of Aragorn need not doubt himself; he was a warrior born.

The Orcs were driven back against their flaming stronghold, which was now crumbling. Vanya heard a cry from within, a soft voice like a child's.

"The Halfling!" she screamed to Elodin. They fought back to back to close the distance between the Orcs and the tower.

The Hobbit was half-hanging and half-clinging to a ledge far above. Elodin covered Vanya as she called to the Hobbit.

"I will catch you! Jump!" The Hobbit was terrified and gripped by indecision.

"Quickly! The fire spreads! Just close your eyes!"

The Halfling flung herself off, and Vanya caught her, staggering, for it was a long way down. She kept the Hobbit close to her side as the fight raged on, slicing through a grunting Orc who was about to charge her.

They were being beaten back, and several bands of them had scattered. The Horde retreated back to their horses for the second and final assault. Eldarion took the lead now, his eyes burning with fury.

Orcs boiled from the flaming remains of the crumbling tower like ants, and Eldarion swung mindlessly, his only thought on avenging Trista's death. As he slaughtered, the others bore down on him, seeing their fellows killed, driving him back towards the tower to try and slay him.

Burning slag fell, toppling one Orc, but still they kept coming, their stench overwhelming. Eldarion jumped up on a heap of them, dead, a pile of crushed helmets, blood drenched singlets and broken spears. He slammed the hilt of his sword into the face of the closest. Its helmet rocked crazily, and it staggered, its face shattered. Eldarion drove his broadsword through another thickly muscled Orc. It muttered two fiendish words before dying. In the midst Trista's voice came whirling, like a dream, speaking the same two words over and over. "Avenge me."

Like an apparition Eldarion swung again, with no thought of retreat, until their ranks were greatly thinned, and the Men of Minas Tirith came to help finish them off. A few had escaped, running to their foul master, seeking aid. The troops rushed back as the tower fell and was reduced to a pyramid of smoking ash. A cheer went up.

"Gondor!" Eldarion screamed, and swords were lifted, flashing through the smoke like sunbeams.

Eldarion smiled grimly. Trista had her revenge now.

"Oh thank heavens, thanks heavens," Pansy mumbled over and over. She gaped at the woman, who was extremely beautiful. She'd never seen a woman so strong, who fought better than a man. She wore a sort of headdress, the likes of which Pansy had never seen before. All around were warriors with similar adornments. Pansy wouldn't have cared if they were three-headed snakes, she was free of Grool and his wretched band of Orcs. She watched with satisfaction as Grool-dur fell, staying close to the woman warrior, who handed her a long knife.

"Just in case," she said. Pansy smiled, nodding.

She only hoped Grool had returned from wherever he had gone and was among the dead.

Pansy was put on a horse in front of the warrior woman and the entire party moved off as one, picking up speed as the horses were brought to a full gallop. Pansy never looked back and nearly wept at her freedom.


	75. Trista and Turning Away

**Chapter Seventy-five**

**Trista. Turning Away.**

So, Aragorn's little upstart had been victorious. If Grool had been home at the time, it would have been another story. Most grievous was the loss of one of the Palantiri.

Intathin summoned Mordel back from her fun and games. "I did not give you leave to depart, my love," he said, kissing her. "I have a little task for you, of a more personal nature than your usual assignments." He chuckled wickedly.

"Find the son of Arwen, Eldarion. Go to him in the guise of his beloved Trista. He is moving in this direction, he will not be hard to find. Seduce him. Make him believe his plaything still lives. And then show him what it means to thwart the will of Mordor. Do not kill him, he may yet prove useful in drawing his mother hither once more."

He watched her go, knowing Eldarion was in for a rare treat indeed. Mordel was a seductress of the first order, her wiles Eldarion would never be able to stand against.

He watched also the movement of the armies, closing in, straight into the jaws of Mordor they would walk, the fools, the fools . . .

Intathin enjoyed playing the silence out, letting them all squirm, in the shadows . . . his intentions were his alone to know. He focused again on the Fellowship in the far North. The Arkenstone had gone beyond his seeing, but not for long. It was time to pay a visit to the Great Wyrms under his command there . . .

Mordel quickly donned robes like the ones Trista had worn and let out her hair and painted her lips. Soon she looked just like Trista except for the scar on her right hand left by Eldarion. She rode to where Eldarion would be passing and stood in the saddle. Far in the distance they were so she waited. Soon she saw them closer and galloped Beleg to them. "Eldarion," she called. He leapt out of the saddle and came to her. Mordel let him lift her down from the saddle and embraced him. "I missed you so much," she whispered.

"I thought you were lost," he said.

Mordel just held him close waiting for the right time . . .

"I can't believe you're really here, I thought you were gone, forever. I have missed you so much, Trista, I am so sorry I couldn't save you before, I tried, how did you get away?"

He kissed her, and went on kissing her, her face, her lips, her neck, and told her that he loved her again and again, and that nothing could harm her now.

He brought her hand to his lips and froze. There was a broad scar across the back of her hand, it was fresh. His arm snapped back and he struck her hard across the face, driving her to the ground. Vanya, Elodin and several of the others came rushing over.

"You foul bitch of Mordor!" Eldarion screamed, kicking her in the ribs, for she was nearly to her feet already. "Throw me some rope!" he called. It was in his hand and he hauled her to the back of her horse. The others helped him tie her onto the bucking horse's back. His hand went to her neck, holding her down onto the horse. He drew his dagger, intending to send her back to Mordor with her throat cut, when she wriggled free of his sweating grasp and sank her teeth into his hand.

The horse spooked and tore away. Eldarion ran after it until he had left the party behind. It was gone.

He sank to his knees in the darkness, his face like stone.

Mordel calmed Beleg as soon as Eldarion was out of sight. "Whoa, Beleg. I know, his foul hand touched you, but you will survive."

The ropes had been tied in haste so she easily squirmed out of them and soon stood at Belegs head. "Well, at least I don't have to look like this any more," she said to him. She ripped off the cloak off her and wiped her face. She stared at the scar on her hand. She walked over to a fizzling fire crack and stuck her hand in. The pain was so sharp she wanted to scream but held it in and when she removed her hand the scar was gone, only a slight redness was left. Then she mounted up and rode back to Barad-dur.

Eldarion rose, his heart full of many things. He was filled with anger at the way Trista had been used, and the way the Dark Lord had used her against him, even in death. He felt sullied by the touch of the woman of Mordor, and spat in deep disgust.

Something caught his eye on the ground, a spot of brightness in the dark. It was the flower Silverberry had given him, it had fallen from his pocket. He picked it up, looking closely at it.

Silverberry had not been far from his thoughts, in fact she was there constantly, and he felt angry at himself for this, and ashamed, because he still grieved for Trista, and always would, and her death was still fresh.

"This has more power than you think," Silverberry had said when she tossed the flower to him. He touched the petals, which were strangely silver in the darkness. Who was she, really? Another trick of the Dark Lord's, a temptation meant to turn him away from what he knew to be true? Thinking of the kindness Silverberry had shown to his mother, this seemed impossible. These were the days when the impossible came to be.

"Silverberry," he whispered.

Sil stood up as if struck. "I must go," she said to the others. "If war is the way you wish to go you have no need of my help anyhow." Looking at Mari she added, "I will return as soon as I can." Sil walked over to Syntoc and told him something in haste about a secret way to Mordor and then mounted Glam.

She galloped off and rode hard and fast until she was behind Eldarion. "Yes . . ." she said and he jumped up. "It was a summoning flower, you called I came . . ."

Eldarion could only stare at first. How had she gotten here this fast?

"I . . . I'm sorry, I didn't know, I didn't mean to take you from whatever you were doing."

"That's alright. I wasn't far off. You've almost reached the Fellowship's location. Where are the others?"

"Just over the ridge."

"What are you doing out here all alone?"

"A woman came to me, an agent of Mordor. Trista. Well, at least I thought she was, for a moment. Until I saw the scar on her hand. He really will use anything, won't he, after all he did to her."

Eldarion broke off for a moment, too angry to speak. His face grew hard.

"I really thought it was her. I kissed her."

"Where is she now?"

"I tied her to her horse, I was going to send her back to her master with her throat cut. The horse ran off before I could. He's as well trained as she is."

He felt her hand on his shoulder. "And why did you summon me?"

"I didn't. The flower fell from my pocket, and I picked it up. The truth is, I haven't stopped thinking about you, and I was thinking about you just now, when I held the flower. I didn't know it would summon you."

Her hand was still on his shoulder. He turned to face her. "I don't know why I can't seem to keep you out of my thoughts." Before he could say anything else, or pull away from her, he kissed her.

When Sil pulled away from Eldarion she was breathless. She spoke softly, "The others are waiting." Though truthfully, she had no desire to leave.

She mounted Glam, finally, and they went back to the others. "Come," she said. "The Dark Lord will not wait to send his forces when the woman returns and tells of our position."

Then they started out towards the Fellowship. Sil rode alongside Eldarion who looked slightly forlorn with Trista gone. "I know how you feel." she said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Sil sighed and resurfaced the painful memories. "My love died too. We were returning to Lothlorien to be joined from Greenwood when just short of the Field of Celebrant a host of Orcs attacked us. They killed him and Glam's mate and foal." Her voice cracked and tears welled up in her eyes. "He died for me and I am ever repaying him by avenging him with every chance I get. You will find that even if you kill the one who did the deed . . . it is never enough if they died for you. All I can hope is that when all is gone we will met again in the halls of Mandos." She turned away so he would not see the tears streaming down her face.


	76. The Fellowship and the Army

**Chapter Seventy-six**

**The Fellowship and the Army**

Grool was frustrated when he saw Sil walk away. He hid the palantir in a tree and threw away his cloaks. He needed a plan. Just then, Grool saw an old Man walk through the woods. He jumped in front of the old Man. "What is your name and occupation, _sharku_!?"

"I am Samuel. I am just traveling through. Please, don't kill me. Take my money, take my clothing. Just don't kill me!"

"Normally, Samuel, I would take you up on your offer. But, I need your skin." Grool beheaded the poor old man. He cleaned out the body and pulled the skin over himself like a costume. Grool walked out towards the fellowship. He said in a creaky voice, "Can you spare some food for a poor beggar?" (He almost cried in disgust as he said the last word.) "I have been traveling long, and I am weary." Grool was delighted when they invited him to rest with them.

Marigold gave up all hope of sleep and joined Draco on the watch, holding his hand. She felt the dark eyes of the old Man on her and stopped to glare at him.

"Have you never seen a Hobbit then? Well, take a good look!" she cried. Lunea rushed over.

"Something is strange, about him, his eyes are the eyes of someone else. Can we not depart, and leave him behind?"

Lunea put a hand on Marigold's shoulder.

"There are some things better left for the future, Marigold. Leave him be and all shall fall into place," she said calmly.

The army rejoined Eldarion and the Elf, Silverberry. Eldarion introduced her. Vanya was not unaware there was something growing between them, and she smiled inwardly. Elves were fierce warriors and always welcome.

Silverberry led them to the Fellowship bound for Mordor. When the Hobbit, Pansy, got a look at the other Halfling she gave a great cry and jumped off the horse, running to her. It seemed a family had been reunited.

The army spread out, encircling the Fellowship. Vanya warily watched the old Man scuffling around.

Clearly he did not belong here and there was something about him that engendered mistrust.

She set a guard on him, keeping an eye on him herself.

Eldarion stood alone, also keeping an eye on the old Man, while Silverberry and Vanya talked. He found himself gazing at her more than once, his heart burning at the way he had kissed her, and the way she had responded. He was haunted by what she had said. Killing Trista's murderers wouldn't bring her back or lessen the pain of losing her.

He supposed deep down he hadn't expected it too, but the attack on Grool-dur had been great boon to their own forces and scattered the Orcs. Now they would be bent on vengeance, just as Eldarion was himself.

He spoke in quiet tones to the men of Ithilien about the troop movements, and they shared the news. There was other vengeance to be gained for what had been done to his mother, as well as the sword to recover. That was the sword under which his father had ruled, and there was no way he was going to leave it in the hands of the Dark Lord, even if he had to sacrifice everything.

He found himself staring at Sil again, and wondering who LeafRunner had been. He hoped they'd have the chance to talk again before things got ugly.

Sil watched the old Man and her doubt grew. She noticed Glam was gone and left Vanya to find him. She saw him, standing over a pile of blood and body parts. It only increased her suspicion of the old Man but she quietly dug in the raw dirt and buried the remains and washed her hands in the stream.

She took the silver circlet off her head and looked through it. She saw the woman of Mordor try to seduce Eldarion, the old Man enter the Fellowship, and eventually saw the Orc kill the old Man. She suddenly filled up with rage but curbed it, he may have yet a part to play. She heard footsteps and stiffened but soon relaxed as it was not the footsteps of an Orc. She replaced the circlet on her head and waited for whoever it was to come out of the trees.

"Silverberry! There you are! I wanted you to meet my mother, Pansy." Marigold was dragging her mother around excitedly. "Eldarion rescued her from the Orcs. They have been holding her for months. Silverberry is a close friend of Eldarion's mother." Marigold's face colored a little. "I'm glad you brought him back with you, and all these warriors, It's much safer for everyone with such a large number of them. Silveryberry is from Lothlorien, mother. Come back to camp, Silverberry, it isn't safe here with that old Man creeping about like a shadow. I didn't like the looks of him at all." Marigold didn't say out loud that Eldarion looked as though he were waiting for her, too, but Silverberry seemed to understand all the same. Marigold couldn't help but sigh, thinking of the way Eldarion looked at Silverberry. It was good to see something like that on the way to such gloom.

Sil smiled to Pansy and said, "Your daughter here was very worried about you and I am glad you are back safely." To Mari she shrugged, "The Undomiel and I were never close, she is my cousin's daughter though we are nearly the same age. We never truly met except when one was rushing out the door. But blood runs thick." She smiled. "And what is all this about the old Man? With all your experience can you not tell what he is?" She laughed and returned to camp with the two Hobbits.

"I must apologize for Marigold," said Pansy to Silverberry when Marigold was off chattering to Eldarion. "She's always been very excitable. She doesn't know you helped bring the Orc tower down."

Pansy smiled as Marigold beckoned her over to meet Draco.

"So, that is Marigold's young man," said Pansy out loud. She walked over and gave Draco an appraising look.

Grool walked over to Pansy. "Greetings! I have never had the pleasure of being in the presence of a Halfling. I am just lucky that I have met the fairest of them all, and her daughter." He reached over and kissed her hand. "I shall remember this meeting for the rest of my days. And perhaps I shall meet more if I ever travel to the Shire. I hope you live a long life and are never again touched by Orcish hands." He kissed her hand again and walked off.

If this scheme didn't work, Grool would end up just grabbing her and holding a knife to her throat. Hopefully she wouldn't be that difficult.

Sil stood behind Pansy and glared into the old Man's eyes. Slowly she lifted her hand and watched as his eyes instantly went down, she did it again, the bright light hurt the Orcish eyes but still, she said nothing.

Then she turned and wandered over to the river she found a path heading up stream. At length she stripped down and dove into the clear waters. It cooled and refreshed her and she was surprised to find Mir staring at her from one of the branches on a nearby tree. "Hail Mir," she called.

"Hail, my Lady."

"What brings you here."

"I came to see you."

"Oh," Sil said. "And what of the Undomiel?"

"She is healing but distressed."

"Over what?"

"Narsil."

Sil nodded, the Flame of the West had been lost in Mordor. Arwen hadn't had it in the Healing House. She sighed, imagining of one the great swords hanging on the Dark Lord.

When Mir flew back to where ever she was going Sil dove into the icy water again. When she resurfaced she heard footsteps coming near the pool. She swam silently behind a small waterfall and waited.

Eldarion stumbled, his dagger clenched in his fist. The old Man seemed to be everywhere but where he was supposed to be.

"What are you doing here?" Eldarion asked angrily.

The old Man spat something at him and hobbled off.

Eldarion stood watching him go, eyes blazing. He was fed up with spies from Mordor. If this old Man was looking for information Eldarion would hand him his liver to bring back to the King of Mordor. Eldarion cursed under his breath, turning on his heel and going on.

There was a rushing stream, cold and dark, and he washed his face, trying to rid himself of the memory of the woman in the guise of Trista. He rose to turn back, and stopped. Night birds were singing. The urge to keep going and see all this land filled him. Duty kept him standing still when he would rather wander on.

Something splashed on the far side of the stream.

He watched, his eyes straining in the darkness.

"Who's there?" he called, his dagger flashing.

When Sil saw it was Eldarion she swam out from under the falls. "It is only me," she said.

"Oh," he said and released his grip on the dagger. Suddenly she felt she was being watched and dove into the water until it subsided. When she resurfaced Eldarion was looking concerned, "What happened?" he asked.

"I was being thought of or watched," she said slowly.

He was silent for a time before asking, "How are we going to get into Mordor unnoticed?"

"A secret way made by Morgoth," she said and swam to her clothes and removed the circlet and set it in the water. "This way," she said pointing to a small hole in the ground shown in the circlet. She was going to continue except she felt the feeling of being watched again and was silent for a time. At length she spoke again. "Come, it is hot, and the river cool." She beckoned to Eldarion.

He tore off his clothes and dove in, his skin tingling. He was out of breath when he came up for air near her.

She laughed softly. "You're not one to turn down an invitation, are you?"

He moved closer. "Not from you. It feels . . . good to be near you. Peaceful. You understand. I can say that about few people I have known." It was his turn to laugh. "This is the second time today I have invaded your privacy. Perhaps that feeling of being watched is only me, always close by." His voice grew very quiet. "I cannot seem to stay away from you."

He kissed her, his heart pounding. Her skin was soft, and cool. He wondered if she could hear his heart hammering against his ribs.

He thought of Trista. "Everything reminds me of her," he said out loud without meaning too. "Everything but you. I feel I will never be free, she will always be part of me, why do I feel no guilt at kissing you like this."

"One day you will not feel so . . . trapped by the memories," she answered. "But they will always be there."

"You are different, somehow. I feel at peace when I am near you, I want to stay near you." He kissed her again, with more passion than he had ever kissed Trista. Her arms went around him, she was so responsive.

He heard the whistle and let go, unable to breathe for a second. "I've got to go, we're moving out."

It was incredibly hard to pull away from her. He pulled his clothes on angrily, and turned back to her.

"Silverberry, where will you go now? With the Fellowship, or us?"

Sil got out of the water and dressed. "I would go with you but I have promised the Hobbit to go with her but I think the call of battle will draw Glam and Aglar to it regardless of what I choose."

Elodin and Vanya sat near the rest of the Horde, discussing the lands around the border, and the defense of this land. Vanya's eyes were far away.

"I'm worried about him, too."

"No harm can come to him in Lorien."

"Emer is responsible, Vanya. She is with child herself, and will be protective of him."

Vanya nodded gravely. "I do not know if we did right in leaving him there. I miss him."

"So do I. The Eagle says Elrond has returned to Lorien. Tolar is safe. He would not be, here, so close to Mordor. There is nothing more we could do."

"Aidan's Fellowship has known success."

"Was there ever any doubt?" Elodin smiled, taking her hand. "Our children are our legacy, Vanya. If we are to perish in this battle, they shall not. They are of the Horde, wherever they go, they shall defend, just as we do."

Vanya nodded slightly, her headress rustling. He caressed her fingers. The Horde was made up of mostly women, and many of them were mothers, some of them sharing husbands. Lorien was full of children who had been left in the care of the Elves there. It was the best defended place in all the realm right now. It did not assuage the constant worry, or the anxiety of separation.

"This is the battle we have trained for, all our lives," said Vanya at length, her eyes distant.

"And we have a large force at our side."

"And the Dark Lord? What of his forces?"

"Perhaps one of us should go and find out."

Vanya raised an eyebrow, a slow smile creeping over her face.

Syntoc stepped up to the old Man from behind, and turned him around. "Excuse me sir, but I will be forced to dismiss you from camp now. I heard recently that Creal, the Wizard, has been discovered missing. Amazingly, sir, you resemble him perfectly. You . . . Grool, are no longer welcome here. Yes Grool, I know who you are. One can't fool a Wizard so easily." Syntoc began to shoot lightning at the Orc, backing him off until he left the camp.

"You had best watch yourself closer next time Pansy Took."

"Well," Pansy sniffed indignantly, "it's not as if a lady is expecting to be hauled off by Orcs in her own establishment in the Shire, it doesn't happen every day, you know." Pansy was grateful Marigold was out of earshot, Pansy didn't want her to know about the trouble in Bree with so much on her mind already.

Pansy had to admit she liked this Draco in spite of her doubts. He was quiet and respectful, and wanted to protect Mari. Now Pansy was faced with a decision, whether to stay here in what was about to become a war zone or return to the Shire. She was no warrior but perhaps there was a part she could play.

Reluctantly the company made ready to leave. Draco wished there were another way they could take besides Cirith Ungol.

He hugged Marigold's mother. "Try not to worry, I'll protect her." Pansy's protectiveness of her daughter only deepened Draco's feelings for her.

He knew deep down Pansy could see it too. They began to ready their packs for the final leg of the journey.

As Eldarion turned to go Sil spoke again. "Wait," she drew him to her and kissed him and her body pressed against his, she whistled and Mir, who had stayed near, flew down and landed on Eldarion's shoulder. "This is Mir, if ever you need any help she will find me." They walked back to the others together and Eldarion mounted his horse while Sil stood nearby next to Glam.

Eldarion jumped quickly down and went to her one last time. He drew a black cord from around his neck, to which a tiny glass was attached, and tied it around her neck. "These are seeds from the White Tree," he said, pointing to the nearly invisible seeds inside the pendant. He pulled her into his arms one last time.

"I love you, Silverberry. Please, be careful." He stopped to scratch Glam's nose affectionately.

"Take care of your lady, for I hope she will one day be my lady, too."

With that he jumped back on his own horse and galloped away.


	77. A Summer Day

**Chapter Seventy-seven**

**A Summer Day**

Emer woke with Silverstar's arms still around her.

Tolar was standing over them.

"Is he your husband now?"

"No," Emer laughed. "This is Silverstar. He is . . . my very best friend."

Tolar accepted her explanation, seeing that it was the truth. She sat up, tousling Silverstar's silky hair. "Wake up, lazy one. It's one of the last days of summer. Let's go down to the river."

Emer left, and returned to the flet with berries and other fruits, and some bread.

The sun was bright, and seemed to touch every part of the wood today. The river looked more inviting than ever when they saw it. Tolar dove in first, Silverstar right behind him. Emer waded in a bit more slowly, the water was still very cold, but she soon got used to it. They swam to the bottom, and Tolar collected stones that had been polished in the water for centuries, to make a necklace for his mother.

After a while Emer sought the sun, and sat drying, watching them swim. Tolar bobbed around happily.

Emer grew alarmed. Silverstar had been below the surface for a long time. She had just jumped back in to look for him when he surfaced, flinging his hair out of his eyes.

"I am the Mage of Water," he said, seeing her white face.

"I don't care! Don't scare me like that again."

He held something out to her. "Isn't this yours?"

It was her silver garland. It was no longer tarnished, the river had cleansed it.

He laid it in her hands. The silver was cold. It had been cleansed of something foul, just as she had. She put it back in her hair, and hugged him.

Tolar splashed them. Emer splashed him back.

"Don't scare me like that again."

Silverstar shrugged, then said, "I feel most at home in water, just as the other Mages do with their own elements. But if you wish me to stop, I shall."

"Like a fish," said Emer, smiling.

Silverstar smiled. He laid down upon the grass, his hands behind his head, his eyes closed.

"It is going to be a warm day, I think . . . in many ways . . ." he said.

As Tolar tried to splash Silverstar, the Mage raised waved his hand, and the water hit him in the face.

"That isn't fair!!" cried the child.

Silverstar smirked outright.

Ayala took the circlet, her hands trembling. Silvermoon watched them, a smile playing across his lips.

Slowly, Ayala placed the circlet upon her head.

"Let's go to the river," said Silvermoon suddenly, before either Legolas and Ayala could speak. They followed him wordlessly. When they arrived, they saw Tolar, Emer, and Silverstar.

Silvermoon walked to his brother. "Washed up, neh?" said the Mage of Fire.

"Amusing . . ." said Silverstar. He opened his eyes. "And you . . . what have you been doing?"

"Blocking you as best I can," said Silvermoon, his smile widening.

"Ha!"

The others watched the two Mages argue for a bit, then Ayala turned to Emer. She eyed the silver garland, then smiled.

Emer blushed when Legolas looked at her, and lowered her head. There was no curtain of hair to hide behind anymore. Maybe there was no longer any reason to hide.

Emer twisted a tiny silver ring she always wore on the smallest finger of her right hand. With her left hand she took Ayala's. "Will you speak to me for a moment?" she asked quietly, not looking at Legolas. Ayala nodded, and they went off.

Ayala was always beautifully dressed, and she floated along beside Emer until they were out of earshot. Emer felt like a scruffy orphan next to her, like something that had grown up half-wild, and feral, with her hair hacked off and uneven, and her clothes still damp from the river.

She spoke before an awkward silence could fall between them.

"I know that I can never make up to you for all the heartache I brought you. And I can't go back in time, and undo . . ."

"Emer . . ."

"No, please, let me finish, or I may never have the chance to say it again. I am sorry, for what I did, the fault was mine, not his. I would be lying if I said I didn't love him, I always will."

The tears fell before she could stop them. She slipped the ring from her finger, and slid it onto Ayala's. She reached up and touched the circlet.

"Be happy," she whispered, and kissed Ayala's cheek. Emer gestured toward Legolas, and Ayala went back to him. Emer stood for a moment, watching their eyes meet. Silverstar caught Emer's eye, and nodded very slightly, barely smiling. Only Emer could see it.

As she returned to them, she looked up. Legolas was watching her. She went to him, and took his hand, and placed it in Ayala's. It took every bit of her will, but she smiled at him.

She went back to Silverstar's side, and sat beside him, grateful he was the only one who could see the tears in her eyes.

Legolas reached for Ayala's hand, shooting Silverstar a singularly possessive look, and glancing at Emer. He wondered vaguely if they were lovers, then chastised himself for it. He had no right to wonder such a thing, and his face burned with anger. Ayala seemed very pleased by whatever Emer had said to her, and he was greatly relieved to see it. Emer was obviously trying to let go.

His heart wrenched to see the change in her. Her hair had been sliced off, and Legolas knew what it meant when an Elven woman did such a thing, it was a sign of loss, and grief. Emer seemed much older than last time he had seen her, the day she had given him the garland of green stones, and told him he was released from their joining. She was even more beautiful now than before, a strange aura of peace and wisdom about her that Legolas knew was somehow connected to Silverstar's presence. It showed in the way they moved around each other the love that was between them. Legolas hoped it would flourish now, and that Emer would know love returned, and not just taken. In spite of all that had occurred, Emer deserved what Silverstar obviously felt for her. His own intimacy with Emer brought pangs of envy at the sight of them, feelings which he turned bleakly from. Turning away from her had been much, much harder than he had thought, though turning back to what he shared with Ayala . . . nothing in his life had ever been easier, or more fulfilling.

Legolas and Ayala drifted away on their own, leaving Emer and Silverstar, who were watching Tolar jump from a tree into the river.

When the trees separated them from the others, Legolas drew his beloved close and kissed her. The opal shone on her brow as if it had never been gone. And never would it be again.

A stunted figure emerged from the trees.

"Well, well, it's about time you found yourself a wife and settled down, Legolas. Think you could stop kissing her long enough to say hello to an old friend?"

Ayala jumped away from Legolas smoothly.

"Gimli!" she cried. "Greetings! Legolas, take care of Gimli. I shall find food and drink."

She walked away quickly, leaving the two friends to talk.

Legolas smiled. "Gimli. It is good to see you, my old friend. I was just going to introduce you to Ayala, I do not know why she ran off like that. I hope she comes back shortly. Please, sit down, and tell me what brings you to Lorien, and share any news you have with us, there is much to catch up on."

Gimli sat down. "Ayala! So that's her? She's beautiful, Legolas. So, you finally found each other again. Well, isn't that something. I guess some things are just meant to be. I got your letter. I can't stay long my friend, I'm on my way to meet up with the army from Erebor. They're moving towards the borders of Mordor. Some of us are going to join the ranks in Gondor and Rohan as well. Just like old times, isn't it. I heard about Rivendell. It came as a real shock, to everyone. I really don't know what to say about it. Can't believe it's gone, I'll never forget the time I spent there." Gimli looked at Legolas with understanding.

Ayala's heart was pounding hard; what would Legolas say?

_:It will be all right. Why do you worry so?:_ asked Tinviel.

_:I wish everything to feel right . . . but it does not,:_ said Ayala, looking at the ring Emer had placed on her hand.

_:What do you think you should do than?:_

_:I am not sure. Perhaps I shall talk to Emer without Legolas and Silverstar.:_

Ayala called to some Elves, who helped her put together a small feast. Then they went to find the two warriors.

Ayon ran after Ayala, grabbing her arm. "Ayala, I've been looking for you. There's a Dwarven army waiting outside the wood."

"Yes, I know, one of them is a dear friend of Legolas, he's with him now, I was just . . ."

"What has that idiot done now?" Ayon interrupted angrily. "Tell me, Aya, something is obviously wrong."

Ayala pulled away from her brother.

"Gimli is an elf friend, Ayon," said Ayala angrily. "He would do us no harm. In fact, if I may be a judge of anyone, he has most likely come to help us. If you have a problem, talk to him."

Ayala turned around abruptly and walked away.

_:What is wrong with him?:_ asked Ayala to her Companion.

_:He is still angry with Legolas for the pain he had caused you. He is worried you will be hurt by him again.:_

Ayala's anger drained away. _:What should I do, Tinviel? Every step I take seems to hurt someone else.:_

_:In this, I cannot advice you. This is a very complicated matter that must be carefully followed. I can speak to Ayon, if you wish.:_

_:Please?:_

Tinviel nudged Ayala's shoulder, then turned around to find Ayon.

Ayala rejoined Legolas and Gimli. The feast had been brought to them while she had talked to her brother. Some of the words she had exchanged with Ayon must have appeared on her face, for Legolas said, "What happened?"

"Nothing," said Ayala. "Is it all right if I sit? If you two still wish to talk, I can leave, of course."

"No, beloved, please stay, for this conversation concerns you too. Gimli has asked us to join him, and his army, at Mordor," Legolas breathed.

"Elrond will return soon. He, too, will want to commit the Elven forces to the fight. He has left Ayala and her brother, Ayon, as marshals in his stead. Now that Arwen is safe, he will return in all haste, for this is our stronghold now, our center. The Elves of Mirkwood may also be counted upon, as well as the other tribes. It is only a matter of sending word."

Legolas fell silent, thinking of leaving Emer behind, and the pledge of protection he had offered her which he may have to break. He would ask Silverstar to remain by her side. He must go and fight, for this would be the final war. He touched Ayala's hair, smiling grimly at her.

Ayala shook her head.

"But we cannot leave at this time. We must wait until Emer has her child," said Ayala, almost as if reading Legolas' mind.

Legolas began to speak, but Ayala cut him off.

"It is important that you stay, Legolas, not just because of your connections with the child, but because of his future. We shall have plenty to do in this war before the end, and we will have to stay beside the king . . . we must protect him!"

Ayala clenched her hands so tight that her knuckles where becoming white. She noticed how Gimli looked to Legolas, his eyes filled with confusion.

"Ayala, Elrond needs not our protection, he will have the forces here at Lorien at his command. We cannot wait for Emer, she will not be delivered for many weeks yet."

"Who is Emer?" Gimli asked.

Legolas rolled up the map in front of him, and began the tale. Gimli's expression changed a hundred different ways during the telling of it.

He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "It seems to me she'd be safer here," said Gimli.

"Aye. I pledged her my protection, but if I am called into battle, I must go. So must all who can be spared here, and everywhere. Emer will understand. I will make arrangements for her protection."

Legolas turned the conversation back to the map, unfurling it on the floor again, keeping Emer from his thoughts. He would explain when he said goodbye to her. Gimli pointed out on the map the strategies and the current positions of the forces. Eventually they fell to talking of old times.

Ayala bit her lip and looked down. What could she say anymore?

_:Not much,:_ said her Companion into her mind.

_:What can I do? What should I do?:_

_:You must do what all Heralds should.:_

Ayala did not respond at first, but merely closed her eyes. She felt something, like a current in her mind, and concentrated upon it. She followed the 'stream' until she found what appeared to be a large pool.

_:A node,:_ said Tinviel. _:That is where a Herald-Mage draws magic.:_

_:Yes. You never have told me what my powers are.:_

_:I did not. You have some healing skills, telepathy, some foresight, little node magic, and a lot of empathy.:_

Ayala turned over the words in her mind, then smiled as the Companion's words she had spoken not long ago came to mind; _You must do what all Heralds should._ It was clear to her now, almost as if heavy rain had suddenly deceased. She felt a hunger to protect, to use her powers for good.

_:Yes, Chosen, you are ready now . . . time to start anew from the ashes left to us, and to be a Herald.:_

Silently, without bothering Legolas and Gimli, she left to change out of her black clothes. When she returned, she wore a thin tunic, short pants, and boots, with a thin cloak, all in white. Her face was shining, and she fingered the circlet in her hair, nervously.

"I guess I am ready now," she said, accidentally out loud. Legolas and Gimli looked at her curiously and she blushed.

"Have you two not talked enough for one night? It is morning and time to sleep for a bit, before the day become too late."

Gimli looked around. "I could use a few winks myself. On solid ground. These treehouses have great views, don't think I'd want to roll off though. Give me a cave any day. A glittering cave studded with gemstones." He winked at Legolas.

"I've got to go check on my men anyway, they're camped in the pavilion now, I don't want to catch any of the younger ones chasing the Elven women."

He smiled at them and climbed down, sincerely hoping they would stay together. It was extraordinary to think of Legolas in the situation he had described, he was always so level-headed.

"Women," grumbled Gimli, singing on his way back to his men, a Dwarven song with a lot of hi-ho's in it. Several of the Elves smiled as he passed them. He tipped his hat to them.

Gimli had gone, and they were alone. He brought her close to him, and held her. He had no right to ask her to stay here with him, but he did ask, without speaking, with his touch, and if she turned away from him now, he would understand.

"Stay with me, Ayala," he whispered. "I have missed you so. I know that I have not your trust, you must tell me how to earn it back . . ."

Ayala trembled slightly in Legolas' arms.

"I do not know," she said softly. Her arms tightened around him.

"I missed you, too. I did not know what to do when you left; everything seemed so dark in those few hours after. Then Tinviel came. She helped me begin to heal . . . to let go of what has happened and start anew. I want to start this journey with you, Legolas . . ."

Her voice faded.

Legolas sighed. Ayala was pressed against him, her eyes closed, her face radiant, more beautiful than ever. Her closeness meant her forgiveness, there were no more barriers between them now, only the love they had always shared, which was unshakeable. He caressed her hair as she slept, her color still high from their lovemaking. Soon they would have to leave this place.

"Legolas! Ayala! Time to go! Everyone is waiting!" Gimli called from the bottom of the tree. The ladder was drawn up, which gave him the excuse not to barge in in case they were sharing something private.

There were five hundred Dwarves and over one thousand Elves ready to leave for the front lines, and another huge force on the way from Erebor.


	78. Departure

**Chapter Seventy-eight**

**Galadriel's Mirror. Departure.**

That afternoon shimmering heat lay over Lorien. Emer asked Silverstar to take Tolar back to the flet to rest for a few hours. Silverstar kindly agreed, and Emer wandered off. Insects sang in the bushes, and the stillness of summer's end filled her with a peace that renewed her strength.

She walked long, and swiftly, and entered the Gardens of Galadriel, as if the path had opened before her and some presence unseen invited her.

She exhaled sharply when she passed the spot where she had once sat with Legolas, her head down.

The gardens were breathtaking, everything was in bloom, summer's last great glorious show, and she stopped to touch the velvety surface of a purple flower. Trumpets of pink and azure cascaded down, a riot of color surrounded her. She breathed in the mingled scents, the perfume filled her with a fiery gladness.

The path rounded, and the corner of the garden opened out to her. She gasped, coming upon a silver basin. This was the Mirror of Galadriel.

It was filled to the brim, its silver surface unruffled, and she knelt before in reverently.

Her own reflection met her, wide-eyed, her cheeks blushed by sun and growing life within.

Her hand flew to cover her open mouth as images danced across the surface of the water.

Aragorn and Arwen being wed. Mithrandir standing nearby.

Two bedraggled Halflings, road weary and worn. One of them struggled with a creature very much like Deagol, and the creature disappeared holding something into a great inferno. The destruction of the One Ring.

The image melted. She saw the battle for Helm's Deep. There was Legolas, fighting, a Dwarf beside him. Tears obscured her vision. She brushed them away with a mighty effort.

Another image replaced the last. An Elven King stood before a multitude. He was tall and dark-haired, his eyes the image of Legolas, his stance full of pride. A white banner flew over the masses. Before Emer could see what emblem it bore, another image presented itself.

She lay next to Silverstar, on some sort of tiny barge. They were fast asleep, their hands joined, and they were surrounded by flowers. The barge they lay on floated peacefully, adrift on a great river, but they did not wake. Emer stared without blinking until the image dissolved.

The quiet was intense as Emer slid down, her back against the basin now, for she could look no more.

She drew her knees up, hugging herself, and stared at the sky in wonder at all she had seen.

"Is it really a wonder?" asked Silvermoon, who seemed to have appeared out of thin air. "You know very well what those images were . . . what they mean . . ."

Silvermoon sat down and sighed deeply.

"I thought you were angry with me," said Emer.

"I was. You put my brother through much pain, but you have healed him. So now I am not angry with you anymore."

"You hurt him yourself once."

"That is something I could not prevent," said Silvermoon, his voice strained. "If I could have . . ."

"I understand, I think. But . . . now what shall we do?"

"We wait, like always, facing the troubles that come to us. Luthan shall be born fairly soon, neh?"

"Yes," she answered quietly, looking straight ahead. "Those images were a wonder to me, and no, I do not those what they mean. I never meant to hurt Silverstar; I'll never do so again. I love him, he's the best friend I've ever had and the only person who has cared for me so deeply, Silvermoon."

She couldn't shake the image of the Elven King, or of her and Silverstar on the river. The symbolism of water was obvious, but the rest? Maybe it was easy for a Mage.

Emer knew she would come back here soon, and look into the mirror, until she understood.

"I must return, I left Silverstar with Tolar, and he will wake soon. It isn't fair of me to ask Silverstar to care for Tolar, that responsibility was left to me." She stopped for a moment, and embraced him.

"Thank you, Silvermoon, for helping me as you have done."

They walked companionably back to the flet Emer now occupied. She was glad she had chosen one away from the others now.

Emer stumbled upon the exchange between Ayon and Ayala. Ayala was lucky to have a brother like him. She waited until Tinviel had gone before approaching Ayon. He looked up at her in surprise.

"Emer?" he asked.

"Yes. You should not have such anger against Legolas. It is my fault he left Ayala, not his. I asked the Dark Hand to draw Legolas to me, and he did. Legolas was caught up in something beyond his control. It was not what he wished, Ayon."

"Why? Why did you do it?"

"Because I love him."

"And he has hurt you, too. Is there no end to it?"

Emer was growing angry. "Are you not listening? I said it was not his fault, and it was not. He loves your sister, Ayon. If you believe nothing else I tell you, believe that."

"And so, you take the blame for Legolas."

"Yes, because it is mine to take." She described in great detail the night Legolas had come to her, and the manner in which she had seduced him.

"He joined with me out of a sense of duty, not out of love," she finally said. "He is good, and kind, and I am not. Please, Ayon, go to Ayala, and tell her you understand now. Tell her I spoke to you, if you wish. It does not matter anymore, what happens to me. I will get what I deserve, in the end. I have already lost him, though I never had him to begin with. I must go, Vanya left her son in my care, and I have shirked my duties."

She rushed away before he could see her tears. A different look at come into his eye, he was less angry. Perhaps now he and Ayala could mend their relationship. Everything that had been put asunder because of that night in the Field of Celebrant could be put back in its rightful place again. Everything but her own heart, and that mattered not, now.

The darkness between the trees called her, and she sat for a moment, her eyes squeezed shut. The quiet was deep and ominous, and she longed for home with a pain so great she gasped. There was not quiet like the quiet of that forest, Mirkwood.

Were in not for Tolar, she would have returned there already. Perhaps she would anyhow.

Ayon stood thinking for a while, after the girl, Emer, had gone. Legolas obviously meant the world to Ayala. Maybe it was time to offer some forgiveness. There was a war ahead in the near future, it was best not to leave things as they were. When next he met Legolas, he would speak to him, as a brother, not an enemy.

He found himself following Emer's trail, and soon came upon her heading bleakly for a lone flet that was nowhere near any of the others. She didn't seem to have noticed he was following her, or was too lost in her own thoughts to care. She had a sultry beauty, it wasn't hard to see how Legolas had been drawn into her web, though she didn't seem as conniving as she made herself out to be.

Ayon pitied her, because it wasn't hard to see she was in love. He knew how it felt to love someone who barely knew he existed.

He turned away when she climbed the ladder to her flet and disappeared.

That night, Emer sat long with Tolar. He was beginning to learn the lute, he had a natural talent for it. They decided together that he must learn as much as he could to surprise his parents when they returned. She was also beginning to teach him runes, so he could learn to read. He was a quick and patient child, Emer would be proud to have a son like him.

Before he slept, she asked him if he would like to see the forest of Mirkwood. His enthusiasm lifted her spirits greatly. Then his face became troubled.

"How will my parents know where I am?"

"I will send them word. Do you want to go?"

He nodded his head energetically.

"Go to sleep then, we'll leave in the morning, we will travel on the river for a long ways. It will be a great adventure."

She thought he was too excited to sleep, but she soon heard his breathing slow. She gathered their things, packing them neatly, and went off to the river to secure one of the tiny boats on shore, in which she stowed their provisions. When she returned, Tolar hadn't even rolled over.

She sat for a long time on the edge of the platform before writing a letter to Legolas, and one to Silverstar. The letters were short. She could not explain why she was going, only that she must. Now they were all free from their protection of her. She could protect herself now, and Tolar.

The sun was just cresting when they departed, the trees rustling a soft goodbye.

"Farewell, Lorien," whispered Emer. "I hope I may return to your golden land one day."

They poled the boat out to the center where the current was strongest, and they were gone.

Silverstar picked up a note that had been left for him, slowly. Silvermoon could see him reading it numerous times before he crushed it.

"And so she leaves again," said Silverstar in a flat voice, when he caught his brother's eyes on him.

"What will you do?"

Silverstar thought for a second. "I do not know. I believe she thinks that by writing me a note, then I shall break the connection . . ."

"Surely she knows that is not possible . . ."

Silverstar shrugged.

"But that is not the problem," said Silvermoon.

"No. It is not. I believe . . . that I shall stay in Lothlorien, for now. I will know when she needs me."

"Yes," said Silvermoon smiling. He whistled, short and piercing. The cry of a hawk was heard several seconds later, and Silverstar raised his arm for it to land.

It was gleaming white, with silver eyes, bigger than normal hawks and graceful. Silverstar looked into its eyes, and several seconds later, it took to the air.

"She shall watch over them, helping to protect," said Silvermoon.

"Yes. And when we are needed . . ."

"We shall go."

They reached the place where the Anduin met the River Gladden and pulled the boat ashore. Emer kept her tone bright and cheerful, and she gave Tolar cram to eat, taking nothing herself except water, in case they were waylaid. She described to the boy in great detail the darkness of Mirkwood, so he would not be afraid, even though she knew he would be slow getting used to it.

She was telling him about the hall of the Elvenking when she noticed a hawk watching them. It was white. Surely something so beautiful could not be of Mordor. She nearly laughed. Hadn't the best thing in her life been brought to her by the Lord of Mordor himself? She would take no chances. She knew not where the Silmaril was hidden. Would the Dark Lord ever be convinced of that?

"Tolar, would you go and fill our water bottles?" she asked, trying not to alarm him. He scampered off. When she saw him bent to his task, she sent an arrow screaming straight into the breast of the hawk. It fell, crashing down through the branches. Tolar stood bolt upright.

"It is nothing, only a pine cone," Emer called. Her voice shook. When he had turned away again she leapt up and moved warily over to the hawk now sprawled on the ground. It was dead. She covered it quickly with pine needles so Tolar would not see it.

"We must carry the boat until we are past the fork in the river," she said. "When we are parallel to the Old Forest Road, we can leave the river behind and walk, it will not be far then."

Emer shouldered most of the load, though Tolar was a strong child. It was slow going in the heat. The boat, which had seemed so light at first grew heavy, and her back ached. They met no other dangers for the rest of the afternoon. If they kept this pace they could reach Mirkwood by morning.

Tolar gripped her hand tensely as they traveled down the Old Forest Road. Emer felt set free again, the heavy, tangible darkness like the kiss of an old friend.

Tolar brightened when the gloom changed, his eyes wide when she brought him at last to the Hall of the Elvenking. Emer's eyes widened as well, there the entire army of Mirkwood seemed to be gathered, and many voices rose.

Emer strained to see over the sea of heads, finally spotting her mother. Emer picked up Tolar and shouldered her way over.

"Mother!" she cried, and her mother stared dumbfounded, as if she saw a ghost.

"Emer!" Her mother swept her into an embrace, and Emer fought the joyful tears that threatened to fall.

"What is going on?" Emer asked, breathless.

"The King is marshaling our forces, to send to Mordor. The first battle is coming." Emer's eyes traveled steadily over the crowd, most of them holding great bows, girded with swords and mail.

"And who are you?"

"I am Tolar."

"Tolar, this is Sylvain, my mother." Emer quickly rattled off the story of how Tolar had come into her care. Tolar took an instant liking to Sylvain, and they were chattering even before Emer could finish the story.

"Mother, I see someone I want to speak to," Emer said urgently.

"It looks as if you have more to tell me," her mother answered, touching her swollen abdomen.

"I will, soon. Can you take Tolar and . . ."

"Of course. I'm glad you're home."

"Me too." Emer smiled weakly. She watched Sylvain and Tolar make their way out, and loosened her cloak around her. She approached the quartermaster, who looked up at her and saw only another soldier, for men and women fought equally among these ranks. She gave him her small bow in exchange for the great bow he handed her, and she filled her quiver with arrows. She held her breath, pulling her stomach in so her pregnancy would not be noticed.

She slipped easily into the ranks and within the hour departed Mirkwood again. She looked back wistfully.


	79. Seeking the Sword

**Chapter Seventy-nine**

**Seeking the Sword**

Edric stood outside smoking, blowing large rings that wafted quickly away in the evening wind. He had stood in just this spot several hours earlier, watching Aidan in a meadow far above. Aidan, with the hawks and egrets gathered around her, the fox dancing her at feet.

He wasn't surprised when Aidan, too, came outside for some air.

"Aidan," he asked succinctly. "How long have you been able to speak to animals? And how came you to befriend this Dragon, Orm? You are a fierce shieldmaiden, but I never knew a maid who kept a Dragon on a leash. The Wyrm did your bidding with no hesitation. True, it is, that keeping the Anachron from the Lord of Mordor concerns even the Dragons . . . most of them are of Melkor and Mordor themselves. We are trusting Orm with much; I must know more."

"Orm is not ruled by Mordor. He never was," Aidan responded. "Just as some Wizards serve the Darkness, and some the Light. Melkor was not as far-seeing as he would have liked to believe. The other Valar kept him in check pretty well. They are representative of the laws of nature, which also keeps an amazing and intricate balance that often goes unseen by us. I just happen to be one of those who see it, and hear it. I have been able to communicate with animals for as long as I can remember. It's how I befriended Orm. This is not the first time I have come here, to the Grey Mountains.

"We came here, seven years ago, to hunt. A great famine was wiping out the Horde. We are a nomadic people, Edric, we hunt the land and live in tandem with it. I met Orm near to here. He was injured, dying. He had battled another Wyrm, one of Melkor's brood. I saved him. The Dragons consider such dealings a lifedebt. I have just collected; our debt is cancelled. Our friendship will endure, however. There are other Wyrms of Orm's persuasion, he has promised their aid."

Aidan was silent. "I must leave the Fellowship soon, to seek the sword, Edric. I will not return to the world of Men without it. It is near, I can feel it calling to me. Whether I can draw it remains to be seen."

"You would have made a fine Wizard, shieldmaiden. No, I will not abandon you now. I will come with you and help you find this sword. As for whether you can draw it, there is no doubt in my mind, that you will do so."

Edric smiled warmly at this girl he had come to regard as a daughter.

"I thank you, Edric. Your confidence means much to me. Look, Orm returns. I will ask him to take the Dwarves back to their lands, or wherever they wish to go. It will be a long climb, Edric. I will be glad of your company."

They stood watching Orm make his descent. It was impossible not to gape at the beauty of the Dragon in flight, his innate grace, his oneness with the wind. Aidan sighed.

"It is done," said Orm.

Aidan bowed to him. "The thanks of all go with thee, Firelord. I must ask one more thing. If they will go, will you return the Dwarves to their land? I must go on, and finish my quest."

Orm rumbled his consent.

Aidan called the Dwarves outside. "Orm has agreed to bear you off. I must continue on, for I have another quest. Where will you go now, so that we may all meet again?"

Bain had overheard the entire conversation. "We're going on . . . with you. If the Dragon can take us back today, he can take us back another day just as easily, shieldmaiden. The Eagle brought us news. Our armies are already on the march. We will return to them when our quest is over, for it will not be over until you find that sword. It will be important, to all of us. We are a Fellowship, and together we will remain."

Now that the Dragon had hidden the Arkenstone, the Wanderer was faced with the decision of what course he should take in his quest. Should he continue on in the Fellowship and find the sword, or should he depart, maybe heading south, or seeing wherever fate took him?

The Dwarves had already decided to accompany Aidan and Edric on their quest. The Wanderer approached the group. "At this point, I do not want to break the Fellowship, but I am torn . . . I do not want to abandon my friends, but I am drawn southwards by the looming war and the desire for battle. If you desire that I go with you to seek the sword, then I would be honored to accompany you. But if I am not needed, then my path leads to the South."

"I, too, wish to fight. I do not want to leave your service, my King, but war is coming and my ax hungers for Orc blood. If the Wanderer will allow it, I will accompany him south."

"So it is decided," said the Wanderer. "Larz and I will head south. Fetch your belongings, Larz, for we must depart now." As the Dwarf went to collect his things, the Wanderer produced a small glass ball from his pocket and handed it to Aidan. "This was designed by my master to summon me at times of need. I managed to steal it from him before we 'parted ways.' If you are ever in any danger, use it, and I will be there."

Larz returned with his pack and they started to leave. The Wanderer turned back. "Find the Sword as quickly as you can and head south with haste . . . It will be useful in the days to come." The Wanderer and Larz began walking once again, and soon passed out of sight of the Fellowship.

"Aidan, the Gray Mountains are expansive, and we could climb for many weeks. Do you know where the sword lies?" Edric asked when the Wanderer and Larz were gone.

"I know," Orm spoke, his voice like deep iron. "I will bear you up, and back down again, and all the way to Mordor after you have taken the sword from the rock."

"You are the bearer of good fortune then, Orm."

"It is my war, as well."

"Indeed."

With no more words spoken, they mounted the Dragon, and aloft the peaks like jagged teeth rose and fell beneath them. Orm turned like the wind, and into a mountain canyon they dove from giddy heights.

The sword flashed, and Aidan cried out as a lover would. Edric had been correct, the climb would have been most perilous and probably deadly, for the sword was in the pinnacle, the very eye of the tallest mountain, wreathed with the snow that never melted.

To an icy crag the Wyrm brought them, there was barely enough room for two to stand abreast. If they moved a few inches either way, it would mean a drop of thousands of feet to their death.

Edric nodded to Aidan. "There it is, shieldmaiden. For the good of the Realm, draw it from the rock."

Aidan's hand shook as she reached out for the filigreed hilt. This sword had lain in the rock since the chorus of Illuvatar first sang the making, like a thorn in the mountain's side.

The mountain would bleed when Aidan drew it from its sheath of sheer rock, this Edric knew, though knew not how he knew it.

Aidan did not hesitate, wrapping her hand around the hilt firmly. She closed her eyes, breathed in, and pulled.

When the sword came free, there came a scream, deafening, that echoed through the peaks, so loud that every ear in Arda must surely have heard it, and known it for what it was. She held the blade aloft, so that the last rays of the dying sun caught fire upon it. She felt a crazy joy, and utterly invincible, and the hilt was hot in her hand.

She brought the fabled blade down, and together they read the runes written on the blade by Illuvatar.

_Imtheochaidh sor si soir_

_A dtaining araimh An ghealach is an ghrian_

"Everything that is and was will cease to be."

Aidan's breath whistled out through her teeth, and she shook from head to toe.

Edric put a steady hand on the girl's shoulder, and took the sword gently from her. From her scabbard, he took her old sword and sheathed the Sword of Creation. As he had envisioned, blood welled out from the crevice which had housed the sword for millenia. He dipped a finger into it and dabbed her forehead.

"You are the chosen, for this is the blood of Illuvatar. Orm, how quickly can you get us to Mordor?"

They mounted the Dragon's back, and Edric was grateful for the penetrating warmth, for the wind was bitter here and spoke of early winter. In one leap they took to the sky, and shot off towards the Dark Land.

From the mountains Larz and the Wanderer passed into Mirkwood, onto trails known to few, and not used for some time. Eventually they reached the Halls of the Elvenking, which strangely seemed to be lacking of its occupants.

They were told by a remaining guard of the large force which had recently departed, and the two travelers decided to spend the night in the comfort of the Elven stronghold.

The next morning they set out, and they did not halt until they had left the cover of Mirkwood. "It is here and now that we must part ways, Larz," said the Wanderer. "I was told in Mirkwood of a Dwarven army not far from Lothlorien. Rejoin your kindred, and you will quench your ax's thirst for Orc blood soon enough . . . And good luck in the battles to come, my friend."

At their parting, the Wanderer started towards Mordor. "And now I enter the lion's den . . ."


	80. Portents and Dreams

**Chapter Eighty**

**Portents and Dreams. Unmasked. Battle Preparations.**

"Mordel," Intathin clucked as she slunk back in. "You have failed me. You should have been more careful. No matter, for once I failed my own master greatly. He forgave my transgressions, and so shall I . . ." His hand tightened on her throat until her eyes bulged.

"Take more care in the future. The mother of Eldarion will return soon." He touched the hilt of the Sword of Elendil, in its scabbard at his side. "Wonderful, isn't it? The most prized of all their swords on the Dark Lord's hip." He laughed uproariously.

"The King is thwarted, and his son nearly seduced by the Mistress of Mordor! The game holds amusement, my dear. Go now, and torment those under your command, I must plan, and put the fire into the heart of the Orcs. The Balrog hungers, and the Nazgul yearns to fly. Soon the land will be theirs to haunt, and hunt, and they will harvest the land, taking of the fallen lambs . . ."

He watched Mordel's hips sway seductively as she strolled off.

Arwen strode easily now in the world of dreams, surrounded by the warmth of healing. On a great plain, she walked, and it stretched out. There was the rise and fall of many voices, jubilant. A white banner rippled in the wind overhead, held aloft by an Elven warrior. Men and Elves stood side by side.

"Hail the King of all the Lands," many cried together, and Arwen looked on with the rest of them. Above them all he stood, his raiment white, his black hair crowned with amethyst and diamond, and the sword he held like quicksilver flashed, the runes on its blade darkening. Arwen could nearly make them out, so close she was.

She gasped when Aragorn stepped up behind the Elven King. "The Bringer of Peace, Golden-Hearted, born in the darkness. Let all march under his standard now!"

There was a deafening roar from the thousands gathered around her. Aragorn smiled at her, as if he had only just left her side, and she smiled back, beckoning to him. He stepped down from the dais and came to her, and swept her up in his arms.

"Let us rejoice," he whispered, and they melted together, and she knew bliss, but always in her mind was the King, the King of all the Lands . . .

"Who is he?" she asked Aragorn. Someone else was calling to her.

It was one of the healers. "Are you having a nightmare, Lady?"

Arwen sat up rigidly, unable to speak, and shook her head.

Arwen pushed the healers away and their offer of sleeping draughts and mind numbing herbs. In disgust she left the Houses of Healing altogether and returned to the Court of the Fountain, and the White Tree, ordering everyone nearby to leave. They looked at her as if she had gone mad, but complied.

She gazed upon the tree, sublime in daylight, and breathed deeply, her thoughts meandering. She willed sleep to come, and dreamt, vividly, as if a fine chain bound her waking self, so that every image was captured.

She was back in the cell, in Mordor. The old Man entered. "I am Alvan, come to heal you."

His voice was sweet, silvery, the antithesis of what lay buried in his eyes. The dream Arwen rose, and tore away his mental mask, the disguise he had worn for decades, since the moment he had decided to seek the throne in the Dark Land.

Though he cursed and spat, still his voice was lyrical, melodic, and drew the listener in, lilting even in curses, spellbinding even when speaking utter defilement, and she knew him at last. Grima Wormtongue.

"You dare much, Arwen, to defy me here in my own realm. You may call me Intathin, or Wormtongue, it matters not, because in the end you will call me Lord and Master, you Elven-whore," he purred.

He raised the Sword of Elendil. "Is this what you're looking for?" His voice rose and fell around her like a symphony.

"Aragorn never spoke to you so sweetly, did he? The desire in your eyes speaks volumes, Lady Evenstar. As a show of good faith, I will give you the sword." He laid it in her hands lovingly.

"And I will watch you slay Eldarion with it. And you will hand it back to me, stained with his blood, and kneel at my feet." His voice swirled around her, cascading down to a whisper, seductively he moved around and around her like a snake. "The poison of Delgoth will insure that my will is carried out, you see. The Elven King will be mine, Arwen. MINE."

In a vortex, he vanished, shredding her dream so that she would wake immediately, the sword in her hand.

Mordel watched silently as her soldiers trained until a warrior found her. "Mordel," he whispered.

"Wait," she hissed, and stood. She slunk out of the courtyard and the Man followed. He was handsome and strong, but had that evil glint in his eye that Mordel shared.

"How is the training going?" she asked. "Are they ready to rise?"

He nodded.

In her mind she called out to Intathin_:The warriors are gathering outside of Mordor, the Men of Carn-dum are ready to rise again. Shall we come?:_ Then she turned her attention back to the Man. Soon they were lying on the floor, and Mordel was laughing.

_"Yes"_ Intathin replied to Mordel's quarry. _:By all means, let them rise.:_ His anger at being identified by Arwen simmered slowly. Like all things, he would work it to his advantage. He turned his attentions to Silverberry and Eldarion. Silverberry was harboring a quiet hatred of Arwen. Something he could easily twist to serve the will of Mordor. Silverberry would help him bring about Eldarion's downfall, and Arwen's as well.

Mordel hoisted herself up and soon began getting ready for the journey to Mordor. She sent some of the children to different parts of Angmar to gather the warriors and sent three of the younger soldiers to summon the Wights from the Barrows.

She mounted Beleg, and along with Durdae, who had been at her side the whole time, rode quickly to the mountains and into the cavern where she had found Delgoth.

"Come to me, all beasts of evil, and help Angmar rise again," she said into the cavern.

When they returned to Carn-dum, they were followed by hordes of beasts, huge serpents, Dragon-like creatures, Balrog-like creatures, huge Orcish beings, and huge Wargs that were as large as horses. By that time, the rest of the army was assembled, the mail of the warriors and the horses shining in the light.

After Mordel and Durdae had donned their mail, they checked the ranks. First mounted warriors on huge horses, covered with mail, then the foot soldiers, next the evil beasts, after them the sorcerers, following them were the Wights, and then other huge section of mounted warriors, and then a small section of Orcs, lighter and stronger than most. She then checked the reserve forces who would follow and come into battle when she summoned them.

Mordel moved to the front, and they moved out. They covered much ground before stopping. The next day the main force reached Mordor in the night and were not noticed, for they went in behind Barad-dur and by the sea.

Mordel and Durdae rode back to the reserve forces, who were waiting, and led them towards the gates of Mordor. At the crack of dawn they could be seen near Mordor, and though it was only the reserve, it was impressive and struck fear into the hearts of all who saw it and all who saw the standard of Angmar and knew what it meant felt more so than those who had no idea who the warriors were.

When all were in Mordor, Mordel walked into Barad-dur. "My Lord, the forces of Angmar are here . . ."

"Splendid, Mordel, splendid. Angmar has risen again!" He surveyed slowly the deadly force she had assembled. "Your name shall be remembered with fear, and they will call you the Witch-Queen of Angmar, and Lady of Mordor, more fair than any, and far more dangerous." Sweetly he spoke, the words glistening with many things.

"Come gaze with me." In the Palantir they saw the large band of Elves from Mirkwood, and the combined forces of Dwarves and Elves nearing from Lothlorien, and another Dwarven army about to converge with the first from the Lonely Mountain.

And there was his greatest foe, the Wanderer, come seeking his death . . .

"If we can slaughter them all, none will rise against us, and the new order will begin," he said. Mordel chuckled in agreement. He placed her in his lap, toying with her hair as they watched and waited.

Arwen sent out a desperate plea to the eagle Geharion, he who had borne her away from the clutches of Mordor. She paced the day away, until evening came and Geharion was seen in the twilight sky.

"Windlord. I have asked much of you, indeed I owe you my life. My need is great. I must get the Sword of Elendil to my son, Eldarion. Will you bear me once again, and take me to him?"

The fountain danced behind them, as if whispering of the battle to come.

To Be Continued in The Tale of the Anachron Volume 2: The Coming of the King


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